


Arabian Nights

by cleo4u2, LadyAngelique, xantissa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Art, Consort!Steve, First Times, Fluff, Graphic Violence, Historical AU, Jealous!Bucky, King!Bucky, Lingerie, Loki is a troll, Loki is an enabler, Love and First Sight, M/M, Sex on Furs, Sexy Bathtime, Skimpy clothing, Skinny!Steve, Steve likes dressing up for his King, Thor has a big dick, bottom!Steve, dancer!Steve, gratuitous dick jokes, like a huge dick, lots of lace, no dubcon, no powers au, no slaves were harmed in the making of this fic, sickening love story, slave!steve, sneeze and you’ll miss the Thorki, virgin!steve, warrior!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAngelique/pseuds/LadyAngelique, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xantissa/pseuds/xantissa
Summary: “Look, we can literally work to get our freedom back. Sometimes all it takes is…the favor of someone influential enough. Marriage also in some cases. Slavery is not always a permanent thing, provided you don’t piss anybody off enough to kill you.”“You mean have me or Natasha let some rich asshole have their way with us,” Sharon spat.“No,” Peggy said slowly, “the king was looking at Steve.”Sam still wasn’t looking at them, his hands wringing. The chill that went down Steve’s spine had him closing his eyes tightly, lips pressed together so he didn’t start shouting at Sam like Sharon.“Unlike his father, King James doesn’t have a cruel, temperamental reputation. He’s considered a moderate ruler, which means he must be a better man. I imagine being that high up must be lonely and…” Sam trailed off, unwilling to say what he thought out loud.“And you want to sell Steve to him,” Sharon snarled.“We’re already sold, Sharon!” Sam shouted. “All of us. Not all of us will have a chance to leave this place alive, okay? Steve has a chance. You and the other girls, too. Me and Clint? Not so much. So if he has a chance? He has to take it.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always and most importantly, thanks to the Glow Cloud herself, the wonderful [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) \- ALL HAIL - for her awesometastic beta skills.

The court was full, nobles and the wealthy having come from all over to attend their king’s birthday. They glittered in their finest, bedecked with gold and jewels, each trying to best their neighbor and show off their wealth and class. It was less about celebrating the day King James Buchanan Barnes had been born and more of a pageant and competition for them, each vying for his favor, to prove they had the most wealth and power with the gifts they gave.

It was, all in all, a chore. Not that he could act in any way impatient, not when he was king. He’d had to smile, offer the appropriate level of gratitude depending on the gift-giver’s status, and repeat the same platitudes over and over and over. Of all his duties as monarch, presiding over social functions was his least favorite, not least because they droned on and on.

At last, the final dignitary strode forward and was announced to the court. General Brock Rumlow held considerable sway over leaders of the armed forces, so it didn’t much matter what was given, James would have to sing its praises. Since General Rumlow had designs on a noble title, he had brought an extravagant gift to impress the court. It was their approval he would have to win if he ever hoped to join it as more than just a military leader, and the gift, walking in behind the General, was certainly going to cause a stir.

There were six of them, three men and three women, dressed in brilliant, gauzy clothes. As they drew closer, James could see they were all beautiful, slim and muscular, and an iron collar had been wrapped about their throats. Slaves, then, and talented ones if the instruments two held meant anything.

“I see this gift has caught your attention, sire.”

Only as the honeyed words reached him from his left did James realize he had leaned forward.

“The gift has spirit,” James said, glancing at the nobleman on his right. Loki Odinson, youngest son of one of his land’s more powerful lords, had been assigned to his court along the same time his brother, Thor, had been sent to join James’ armies. Their father hoped one or the other would prove himself, making his choice of heir easier, and James had put him to work as an advisor. Loki was skilled in negotiations, as well as court intrigue, though he took too much enjoyment from it at times. James just wished his father would get on with his choice so that Loki and Thor would stop posturing.

“If they are actually skilled,” said the man on his right.

Lord Tony Stark was James' foremost advisor, all others answering to him. He had grown up in the palace, his father too busy with his own lands to bother raising him after his mother had passed. In the end, the family had lost their fortune, but Tony had proved himself in his studies and James' father had sponsored him to attend the college. His knowledge wasn’t the only reason James kept him around, however. He was one of the few people in his life who could, and would, not only stand up to him, but tell him truths he didn’t want to hear. Of everyone in the court, James valued his opinion the most, but his constant sniping with Loki was more irritating than Loki’s rivalry with his brother.

“You actually care about their talents?” The feigned surprise in Loki’s voice grated on James' nerves. “I thought their lack of dress would be enough to catch your interest.”

Even without looking, James could practically hear the steam pouring from Tony’s ears at the dig. Loki did have a way of pushing people’s buttons at the most unfortunate of times. For all that Thor was capable of breaking a man in two, Loki was the crueler of the brothers, his tongue lashing people to the bone for the smallest infraction. Tony’s infraction was that he had paid more attention to the dancers than he had to Loki.

“Only you would think a pretty package makes a gift useful,” Tony said shortly.

Now it was Loki radiating ice on James' left.

“I imagine dancing is not the _use_ you’d put them to,” Loki began with false sweetness.

“Gentlemen,” James murmured, cutting Lord Odinson off mid-word. If he didn’t, they would only escalate the insults for hours, never tiring, and never running out of new ways to needle each other. It was both awe-inspiring and exhausting. Ordinarily James would just separate the two of them, but they were both invaluable. James suspected they would remain as his advisors for as long as he lived, even if he felt like he needed to lock them in a cupboard, possibly naked, to get them to stop sniping at each other. If they would just lay together already...

“Peace?” he murmured hopefully when the silence behind him lasted for at least half a minute.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Tony quietly drawled. Instead of offence, James heard humor in the soft snort that Loki let out, and shook his head minutely at the two’s antics. At times, it looked as if they just loved to hate each other.

“My liege!” General Rumlow called from the foot of the throne.

The slaves had filed in behind him, heads lowered. The two on the left, a man with dark skin and large, almond eyes, and a woman with dark hair, pale skin, and ruby lips, carried lutes. Their clothing was less revealing than that of the others, a brilliant royal blue trimmed with silver, and had to have cost a fortune in their own right. At the other end was a curly-haired blonde man in low slung, purple pants that billowed about his ankles. Barefoot, he was taller than James himself and had wiry, bulging muscles. Between him and the musicians were a blond man in blue, a blonde woman in red, and a redheaded woman in black. All were pale, short, and lean. Their clothes were nearly entirely translucent, where there was fabric at all. Where there wasn’t, they were bedecked with golden chains that clashed sharply with the iron collars about their necks. All of them had eyes painted to match their garments; brilliant shades of blue and red and black adorning their lids, exotic and eye-catching.

“My gift to you on this most auspicious day!” the General called, and James had to pull his gaze from the tattoo that graced the lower abdomen of the blond man in nearly nothing. “Performers, captured in the North. Musicians, dancers, and acrobats. They are well known in their lands, and now, sire, they exist for your entertainment.”

General Rumlow swept to the side, his cloak billowing out behind him. To James' surprise, none of the performers immediately stepped forward. They glanced at each other, silent, and then the tall man in purple stepped forward. James let out a slow breath, not wishing anyone to know how nervous the prospect of disobedience had made him. Executing slaves, captured ones from foreign lands, because they disliked their new station in life sat poorly with James.

Bowing deeply, the entertainer said, “Your majesty. I am Clint Barton, and we are the Alalihat Aleayima. If it pleases you, we would perform for your majesty’s pleasure.”

Smiling, James waved for the man to continue. He had to admit, it amused him that they were expressly stating they were performing for him and not for General Rumlow. It was not said in a way that could cause the General to take offense, either. Judging from the sour look on his face, Rumlow knew it as well.

In unison, the dancers moved back without any visible signal from the acrobat. As one, they began striking the heels of their left feet on the floor, causing the bells of their ankle-jewelry to jingle, setting up a strange rhythm that James couldn’t make heads or tails of. It sounded like music, but not like any kind had heard before. Just when he thought he had sense of the tempo, the lute players joined in, nimble fingers plucking the strings, the fast notes spilling into the air. The tall blond in purple, Clint, walked before the throne, bowing to the court and pushing back those who had strayed too close. As the strange music grew to a frenzied pace, he bowed again to the throne and the sound stopped completely, leaving eerie, sudden silence in the throne room.

There was no warning. One moment everybody was still, the hush raising the small hairs on the back of James' neck, and then suddenly everything exploded into movement. Clint turned around and started running at full speed towards the three dancers. At the same time, the two women crouched, clasping hands between them. The small blond in blue placed his foot atop, grasped their shoulders, and pulled himself to standing upon the platform of their hands. As one, the three crouched, then surged into the air, throwing the small man towards the larger. The court gasped, but the toss was perfectly timed. Clint’s hands were placed just right, catching the blond in the middle of his back and flipping him higher into the air, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. As he came down, he landed with one foot on both Clint’s hands, the other leg stretched high above his head.

The court erupted in cheers, but fell instantly silent as there was only a moment’s pause in movement. Jumping, the dancer twisted in mid air, turning vertical, only to be caught by Clint and launched back up upside down, his feet stretching into the air. He never came down again; the dancer and Clint locked hands, the latter once again acting as platform to lift the small dancer into the air - a headstand mid air. From there he was flipping again, landing with his backside in Clint’s palm, sitting as if in a chair.

The smaller dancer was grace and balance, flying through the air as if he were a bird, as if something as common as the ground wasn’t needed. James couldn’t stop looking at him, at the way he flowed effortlessly from pose to pose, letting Clint toss him about like a child's toy, never once slipping, unbalancing, or displaying any fear. His brilliantly colored eyelids were half-closed, face almost serene in his concentration, more composed than any of James' best soldiers would be under these circumstances.

Once again the court cheered, and this time the little blond cracked a smile. Another push and he was in the air, twisting and landing in Clint’s arms. James found his throat was dry, watching the acrobatic young man be placed on his feet and turn around as Clint stepped back. Then he was leaping backward, flipping onto his hands and bounding off them. Clint was there before he landed, grabbing his waist and tossing him bodily into the air where he flipped again and landed, standing upon Clint’s open palm.

“Holy gods,” Tony muttered at his side.

A toss, leap, and twist, and the small man was falling into Clint’s arms to be set on his feet, again facing the incredibly strong man in purple. Crouching, Clint cupped his hands and tensed as the little blond ran toward him. Like climbing high stairs, he placed his foot in Clint’s hands and then was thrown into the air, flipping about. Yet Clint was falling back, causing even James to gasp as he rolled to his back and somehow caught the little dancer on his feet while grasping his hands.

Now the little blond was really smiling, grinning down at his larger friend. Clint didn’t once lose his focused expression, bending his legs and tossing his partner high into the air. The little man seemed to fly, standing in the air, his bells and chains jingling and tinkling, his clothes whirling about him before he landed again on Clint’s feet, his own on Clint’s hands. Another toss and the man flipped seemingly in place, landing gracefully again as if Clint was any other chair.

From the corner of his eye, James saw the two other dancers move behind the little one in blue. They crouched, Clint bent his knees, and threw the blond into the air. This time he flipped in place, over and over, once, twice, three times, four, his sheer clothes a mist of insubstantial color around him. James' jaw fell open and then the man was being thrown higher, high enough the women dove beneath him and Clint between one flip and the next, rolling and climbing to their feet only to do it again.

Then they were still, the blond’s smile still on his face, hands in the air. The court cheered, belatedly James found himself clapping, and then the gorgeous man flipped backward off Clint’s legs, landing on his feet and turning to bow to all sides as his thin chest heaved for air, pale golden skin sheened with sweat, and a slight flush on his cheeks. Clint was on his feet as well, bowing, clasping the dancer’s hand and turning him about.

Just as the applause and cheers died down, the music shifted, slowed, and softened. The court fell silent once more and Clint stepped aside to join them. Clapping to the new languid beat, he watched the three dancers form a line, then lift their hands in the air, left feet pointed. The clapping sped up, little by little, and then the dark-haired lute player began to sing. It was a wordless song, rising and falling and seeming to compel the dancers to move. They did as one, twisting their arms in the air, reaching towards the throne. Their hips twisted away from their torsos, then back. Their chests popped forward, back and down in a rolling undulation.

The clapping sped up. They twisted, hands and arms moving in different directions than hips and legs. Rolling, always rolling, from hips to stomach to chest, in time, in sync, but James had eyes only for the blond in blue. There was something extremely primal in the way he moved, a challenging sensuality in a such a small body, a harsh physicality that made James' throat instantly dry. The bells jingled with every synchronised mood, echoing in his head. He couldn’t stop staring at the feminine way the small dancer moved his hands, how he tilted his body, thrusting his chest out in sharp, suggestive movements before turning light as air on his feet, making the fanciful clothes billow and surround him in a cloud of color. His brightly painted eyelids were lowered, golden lashes casting long shadows over his flushed cheeks. Every so often he cast a glance at James, his eyes as brilliant a blue as the paint on his skin.

 

 

In all the lightness of the movement, in all the sensuality, the heavy metal collars were exceptionally jarring.

“You like the male dancer.” Loki’s voice was thoughtful behind him. “More than the rest of them,”

“He’s uniquely skilled,” Tony said before James could even answer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen somebody that well-balanced; so skilled. This is a truly magnificent gift.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Loki still had that speculative tone to his voice. “Strange for someone of Rumlow’s disposition to choose this kind of gift.”

“He wanted to impress the court,” Tony argued. “I’d say he’s succeeded.”

James tore his eyes off the dancer to look at Loki, finding him watching the small dancer, his eyes focused and unreadable. James didn’t like that look on his face, not when it was directed where it was. The thing about the younger Odinson was that he could spot court intrigue a mile away. Only sometimes, if there was none, he created his own for entertainment. He wasn’t cruel for cruelty's sake, or James would have not tolerated him in such a high position. Usually, he targeted people’s faults, bringing them into the open and giving them the chance to change their ways. Like a cat, Loki usually landed on his feet. James, on the other hand, lived in fear of Loki one day crossing that line he had skillfully toed so far.

The sound of more hands joining Clint’s, clapping to the beat, drew James' attention back to the entertainment. It was his courtiers, he noted, smiling and joining in, watching the dancers and clearly thrilled. Rumlow had, of course, noticed as well and was preening, smirking with his chin lifted, observing the people, not the show itself. James had to admit, the General looked far more smug than he had any right to, yet the gift was superb, and he would have to praise him as such. After the ceremony, however, he would instruct his own intelligence network to keep an eye on Rumlow, find out if Loki’s comments held water.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve hardly remembered their performance ending or the trip through the palace to the slave barracks they’d been given as their own. Having two acts back-to-back was simply exhausting and he leaned on Natasha for support as they were escorted away. It wasn’t new, this momentary lapse, and the others had surrounded them, keeping any prodding guards, or handsy ones, away. Sam and Clint had always been good at that, but now Steve knew they did so at their own peril, and his stomach twisted. They no longer had laws to protect them, or influential backers to ward off the undesirable element. It was luck they even spoke the language, coming as they were from so far away.

Slavers, Steve still couldn’t believe they’d been attacked by _slavers_.

“Well,” Sam said as Natasha helped Steve onto the bed and Peggy started passing out glasses of water, “never played for a king before.”

“Not like we had an option,” Sharon snapped. “Don’t you try to silver-lining this, Sam Wilson. That king out there gets to pick any one of us to do with as he pleases. You think we’ll get a chance to say no?”

Steve winced and Natasha rolled him onto his side and began rubbing his lower back.

“Gonna bruise, looks like,” she told him quietly.

“Think I got Clint’s toes up my ass,” Steve grumbled, taking the glass from Peggy and sipping delicately so the water didn’t spill.

“It’s all part of the show, spangles,” Clint teased, “at least it wasn’t my foot.”

“Your foot would not fit up my ass,” Steve huffed, then groaned as Natasha found a knot.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, “you’ve got a pretty small ass.”

“What would you like me to say?” Sam shot back at Sharon. “You know if I could do something, I would. Maybe… Maybe we’ll find a way to earn our freedom.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha asked before Sharon could speak, interceding as the blonde looked fit to spit nails.

Sam shrugged and looked down.

“Look, here…sometimes we can literally work to get our freedom back. Sometimes all it takes is…the favor of someone influential enough. Marriage also in some cases. Slavery is not always a permanent thing, provided you don’t piss anybody off enough to kill you.”

“You mean have me or Natasha let some rich asshole have their way with us,” Sharon spat.

“No,” Peggy said slowly, “the king was looking at Steve.”

Sam still wasn’t looking at them, his hands wringing. The chill that went down Steve’s spine had him closing his eyes tightly, lips pressed together so he didn’t start shouting at Sam like Sharon.

“Unlike his father, King James doesn’t have a cruel, temperamental reputation. He’s considered a moderate ruler, which means he must be a better man. I imagine being that high up must be lonely and…” Sam trailed off, unwilling to say what he thought out loud.

“And you want to sell Steve to him,” Sharon snarled.

“We’re already sold, Sharon!” Sam shouted. “All of us. Not all of us will have a chance to leave this place alive, okay? Steve has a chance. You and the other girls, too. Me and Clint? Not so much. So if he has a chance? He has to take it.”

“No,” Steve said quietly and the others all turned to look at him. “I’m sorry. No.”

“Steve,” Sam said, moving to the bed and sitting at his side, “No isn’t a word you say to a king. Especially not here. I’m not saying you go to him, I’m saying if he asks for you…don’t throw your life away.”

“So what if he doesn't like to hear ‘no’?” Steve growled, sitting up and knocking Natasha’s soothing hands away. “I will fucking stuff it down his throat. I’m not a damned whore.”

Sam’s lips twisted. 

“If you do that publicly, they will punish you, Steve.”

“Let them,” Steve hissed. 

“They will not kill you,” Sam said earnestly, “They will not beat you. They will cut off your feet and your hands, forcing you to live the rest of your life dependant on other people for everything.” Everybody went quiet and Steve fought the tears that wanted to spring to his eyes. “There’s a reason nobody risks the punishment, there’s a reason I brought this up. You have a . You can be free again.”

“How do you know?” Natasha asked quietly.

Sighing, Sam laid his hand on Steve’s shoulder gently.

“My hometown is a few days ride to the east. Slaves are more common than you think. My father was captured as a slave in foreign lands, brought here because of his carpentry skills, and eventually managed to work his way to freedom because of the knowledge he had. I was taught to read and write because of his origin, because he had ties to the palace. I know how things work here.”

“Why hadn’t you said anything before?” Clint asked, his voice subdued.

“Because I was ashamed?” Sam gave them a weak smile. “Everybody thinks slaves are nothing more than whores,”

“No, why did you tell them their options,” Clint said, dropping down onto the bed to Steve’s right. “Let them prepare themselves for this.”

“I…” Sam frowned, looked down again. “I thought it would be easier, not knowing, before. And, well,” Sam smiled weakly at Steve, “I was pretty sure you’d end up getting yourself beaten, mouthing off during the journey.”

Peggy and Sharon snorted, Clint and Natasha laughing quietly. It was only that break of tension that brought a smile to Steve’s lips. The troupe was his family; their happiness mattered, but he wouldn’t let some pompous asshole rape him. He wouldn’t.

“I still won’t sleep with him,” Steve muttered mulishly.

“Don’t be rash,” Natasha scolded from nowhere. “No, Steve,” she said when he opened his mouth again. “Do not throw your life away. If you have to refuse, do so with some _tact_.”

“And it’s not like it’s all or nothing immediately. I bet you could talk your way out of things,” Sam said. “You do know how to be charming when you forget that you’re an angry little shrimp.”

Glaring at them both, Steve went to argue again when the door crashed open. The guards on either side, the ones keeping an eye on any attempts at an escape, were a stunning contrast to the slim man in green and black silks who strode through. He was tall with a wiry build that often meant speed and core strength. He moved exceptionally quietly for a noble, light and sure on his feet as he walked towards them. His eyes were green, the clothes highlighting the color. He had shoulder-length black hair, slicked back artfully away from his face and a long, sharp kind of face. There was a tiny smile, almost a smirk on his lips as he slowly looked over them all. 

Steve watched him in turn, they all did, trying to assess if he paid any special attention to anybody in their group. He remembered seeing him behind the king, speaking to him quietly while watching them perform, but Steve had no idea who he was. Unfortunately, The man gave the same amount of attention to Sharon, Peggy and Clint, his sharp eyes not betraying any emotion as they skipped from woman to man and back to woman. He barely paid any attention to Sam, his eyes just skimming him in seconds. Then the sharp gaze landed on Steve and _stayed_ there. 

_Shit_ , Steve thought.

“Your performance,” the nobleman drawled in a surprisingly friendly voice, “was almost too good.”

“Thank you, your lordship,” Clint spoke up quickly, standing and blocking the man’s view of Steve. As if he’d meant it to happen, the lord walked to his right, casual calm, once again able to see Steve.

“You caught attention of many people at the court, most wondering how a brute like Rumlow managed to even recognise the skill you showed. He’s not one to appreciate the finer arts, you see.”

“We wouldn’t know, your lordship,” Clint said, hands twisting nervously at his sides, “but we are happy to perform for his majesty.”

“My name is Loki Odinson,” he introduced himself, spreading his legs to shoulder width and locking his hands behind his back. “You,” the nobleman once again locked his intense eyes on Steve, “what is your name?”

Feeling unnerved by the strange fondness the nobleman was showing them and trying to remember Sam and Natasha’s warnings, Steve answered, “Steve Rogers.”

“Rogers, then,” the nobleman said. “You will attend the king with his bathing.” Steve opened his mouth and immediately felt Natasha’s fingernails dig painfully into the skin of his thigh. “You will be taken to the servant’s quarters where you will be attired appropriately for his majesty.” There was something that ghosted through the nobleman’s expression, a hint of a smirk. “And while you attend to the king nobody will dare touch you,” The man’s sharp green eyes moved away from Steve for the first time to his friends, landing briefly on everyone before going back to Steve’s, “or yours.”

_Fuck_ , Steve thought, swallowing down his protest. It had been one thing when it was only his body on the line. If he had the chance to protect the others? 

Natasha’s hand dug painfully into his leg and he looked to her again. Though she didn’t speak, he saw what she wanted to say in her eyes. That they wouldn’t ask it of him, that they wouldn’t want him to take this burden. This knowledge made it hard for Steve to breathe, but it also made it impossible for him to say no.

Sliding from the bed, Steve squeezed Natasha’s hand and moved to stand before Loki Odinson, tilting his head back to look at the man over a foot taller than he.

“I understand,” Steve said, trying to mask the tremble in his voice.

Sly green eyes locked with Steve’s for a long moment.

“I see you do,” Odinson murmured. “The chamberlain will arrive soon to prepare you. Do your best!” he said with a cheery smile, before turning sharply away on his heel and striding out, forcing the guards to scramble to open the door before him.

“Why do I get the feeling that it’s not the king or General Rumlow we need to worry about?” Peggy asked from her corner as the barracks door closed firmly and was locked once more.

Steve didn’t answer. He found his hands were shaking. A moment later, he was enveloped by two pairs of strong arms and looked up to find both Sharon and Clint hugging him tightly. Taking a shaky breath, he let them hug him tight, then lead him back to the bed.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sharon said fervently. “Not for me, not for any of us. Steve…”

“No,” Steve interrupted, as firm and quiet as he had refused before. “I can do this.”

“Steve,” Clint began, but he shook his head hard to stop Clint as well. 

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Pulling him in tight, Sharon pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. Sighing, Clint hugged him as well, and then the others were there in a giant pile, knocking Clint, Sharon, and Steve onto their sides as they dog-piled on. It was normally a moment of laughter and shouting, Steve could hardly breathe, but he just took the weight, the warmth, the elbows in his sternum, and let it ease the knot in his throat.

\---

The steward didn’t take very long, coming to find Steve still piled beneath the troupe and led him away alone. The servants quarters were nearby, so it wasn’t far, but Steve still felt exposed. Odd, as he was dressed, but knowing what was to come, he couldn’t help but feel eyes on him. As though everyone he passed knew what was happening, what he was being summoned to do, and was judging him for it.

Being ‘made ready’ for the king turned out to be a bit of a circus. There were at least a dozen servants running about, laying out clothes and jewelry, drawing a bath, preparing soaps and towels, and any number of other things. To say Steve was a little overwhelmed wasn’t accurate. He was lost and uncomfortable, confused that there were so many people making such a fuss. They chattered over and around him as well, working to make him presentable, but not including him in their preparations. 

The man leading him clicked his tongue as they entered and the flurry of activity stopped as all eyes turned to the chamberlain.

“Is everything ready?”

A maid stepped forward and folded her hands before her, dropping a small curtsey.

“Yes, Jarvis, sir. The clothing has been retrieved from Lord Odinson and the bath drawn.”

“Very well, you’re all dismissed for the moment, I will carry on from here.” He turned to Steve, finally paying him more than the moment’s regard he’d gotten so far. “Steve, correct?”

“Yes, and you’re Jarvis?”

“Indeed,” the chamberlain confirmed, bending his long neck once. “Strip, please. Your clothing will be taken to be laundered. We must insure you carry no weapons so you will be given everything you are to wear. Bathe and I will discuss what is expected of you.”

Swallowing, Steve turned about and stepped out of the clothes, uncomfortably aware of the older man watching him as if he was a prized racehorse. The costume wasn’t actually Steve’s, their clothes had been taken during their capture. He was still gentle with it, setting it aside folded for Jarvis or another servant to take away. The chains and bells and other adornments took longer to remove, but Steve set them aside as well before climbing over the side of the large wooden tub set in the middle of the room. 

To Steve’s surprise, the water was hot, smelled of jasmine, and came up nearly to his neck.

“Very good,” Jarvis said, stepping forward and offering Steve a small cloth and a bit of soap. It too smelled like jasmine and he rubbed the two together to start a thick lather. He did not look at Jarvis again, honestly wishing the man would go away.

“Now then, I do not expect you know the rules of meeting with royalty so I will cover them. Listen closely, as failing to follow through could mean your life if you insult His Majesty. When you meet the king, bow, greet him as Your Majesty, then address him as sir or sire. Do not touch him until he extends a hand to you, or says you may do so. When you speak to him, _only_ address him as sir. Not James, not Bucky -”

“Bucky?” Steve repeated, then wilted under the hard stare Jarvis fixed upon him.

“- or Barnes. Do not ask about his personal life, his family, or anything else invasive. Make eye contact, look happy, and _do not_ turn your back upon him.”

“Thats a lot of rules for a slave,” Steve said bitterly, scrubbing the sweat from his skin furiously.

Jarvis huffed quietly.

“If a slave is all you want to be, then I will stop giving you information, and maybe I should already send you down to the barracks to entertain the troops?” Jarvis asked sharply.

Steve blinked at the immediate riposte, not expecting the sharp response from the chamberlain. As much as he hated being summoned to the king's chambers, it was still better than being made to entertain the drunk soldiers. Not to mention, Steve wasn’t quite sure what Jarvis meant by ‘entertain.’

“I want to learn,” Steve admitted, swallowing his anger down. “Please,” he added when the silence continued.

“It doesn’t matter how you got here,” the chamberlain told him, almost gently. “All that matters now is how you use what you have.”

“My body?” Steve couldn’t resist asking bitterly.

Jarvis took in a trying breath.

“These rule apply to any and everyone who meets the king,” he said. “If you believe your body to be all you have to offer, then yes. I had assumed someone with the skills the servants are tittering about had to have some sort of mind as well. If you wish to survive, do not use it. If you wish to thrive, however…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “Please continue.”

Nodding, Jarvis paced to Steve’s pile of discarded clothing, picked it up and took it to the door. He handed it to someone on the other side and returned again.

“Do you know how to use the oils to ease the way?” Jarvis asked, fussing with the clothes folded upon a padded bench. The clothes Steve suspected he would be wearing soon.

“Ease the way of what?” Steve asked.

Jarvis turned and pinned Steve with his light brown eyes.

“Do you know how to use oils if the king decides he wants to engage in penetrative intercourse?”

Steve’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening, and his mind spinning. The chamberlain had asked him, point blank, if he knew how to slick up his own ass. Was that a common question in this land? Do you know how to make it easier for someone to fuck you? Jarvis wasn’t smiling or moving on, either. He stared at Steve with those serious eyes, not a trace of shame or embarrassment evident.

“If you do not,” Jarvis finally said, “tell me and I will instruct you on proper -”

“No!” Steve squeaked, horrified at the thought of this elegant older man instructing him on how to stretch… To stretch... No! Gods, no. “I know! There is no need to instruct me!” he lied fervently.

Before he turned away to attend to the clothes again, Steve thought he saw a sparkle of humor in Jarvis’s eyes.

“I’m glad to hear that. Your duty tonight will be to ensure his majesty is properly cleansed. Should he require anything else of you, you will provide without argument, or fuss. Do not, however, climb into the bath with his majesty until he requests it. Similarly, do not take off your clothes unless he requests it.” Straightening, Jarvis faced Steve again and folded his hands before him. “Do you have any questions?”

“No,” Steve choked out.

“Then are you about done?” Glancing down at the bath water, Steve opened his mouth, but Jarvis interrupted. “Squeaky clean, young man. Do not miss an inch.”

The rest of the bath passed in a haze of embarrassment and vague anger as he scrubbed himself from head to toe and between his toes, too. Jarvis even prompted him to wash behind his ears. Honestly, he was worse than Steve’s mother used to be, hen-pecking and observing, though it was probably what made him so good at what he did. 

After Steve climbed out of the bath he wrapped himself in large, soft towels and glared balefully at the tray of what looked like strangely soft strips of bark. He was told to chew on them while Jarvis brought him one item of clothing after the other. The bark tasted a little tart, but also fresh. It smelled like new wood, was rough on his tongue, but he found that chewing it was a fairly pleasant activity as he slipped into the garments. They were new as far as he could tell, leather and linen, dyed black and studded with flattened, silver beads. The top wasn’t really fair to be called clothing at all. Hanging across his shoulder blades and around his arms, it highlighted the muscles of his shoulders and chest, tassels hanging loosely along his sides and above his ribs that would move when he walked or lifted his arms. The pants were, at least, opaque but would sit low on his hips from the weight of the silver alone. It ran like scales, larger ones over his hips, smaller ones decorating his thighs. Matching gloves rose midway up his forearms, fingerless and black, the silver scales running from his wrist and upward.

The clothing was expensive in its own right, but the jewelry would have effortlessly bankrupted the troupe. A long, triangular shaped necklace made of engraved golden plates, shimmering like dragonscale hung about his neck just beneath the collar all the way to his sternum. There were several armbands that lay on his biceps, elbows, and between the end of the gloves at the joint. One was made of wrought gold and silver, grey pearls framing the ones about his elbow. Last there were double rings that lay over his fingers with exquisitely thin, decorative chains traveling the back of his hands to thin gold bracelets laying where the leather gloves ended in silver. 

Steve had to admit he liked the clothes, the luxury of them. Even new they lay on his body as if they were made specifically for him. There were no rough stitches digging into his skin, no cheap material rubbing him raw though the garments were tight. At the same time, the awareness of their price, the obvious wealth, was taking away the enjoyment of it. This set of clothes was worth more than the whole troupe earned in a year, and the thought that he might damage them sent his heart palpitating madly in his chest. He would have to work for years just to pay back the cost of the precious metals and expensive cloth if they were dented or torn. Though, he had to admit it was nice to actually be mostly covered this time.

“Perfect,” Jarvis said softly and Steve looked up at the chamberlain uncertainly. “I noticed you wore kohl,” he added, picking up a small stone jar, “and had some procured for you if you’d like. Black, simple; if I may, I think it would suit you better than the elaborate work you had on before.”

Surprised, mostly because Jarvis was still not treating him like a slave, but just another servant, Steve nodded and held out his hands. 

“Thank you,” he managed, voice rough. 

“I have given you all the help and advice I can,” Jarvis said, setting the expensive kohl and brush in his hands. “Do your best.”

Swallowing, Steve nodded. He would. Not for himself, but for the others he would make the King happy.


	3. Chapter 3

James rubbed his eyes, trying to stave off the headache that had been looming for hours. Everybody thought that being ruler meant a lot of luxury and no work whatsoever. How wrong they were. It was late enough that most of his advisors had gone to bed and here he was slaving over letters that needed to be sent as soon as possible to avoid any slighted feelings that may inspire his vassals to band together against him. That was how his father had nearly lost his power once. The man had preferred his entertainment to his duties, thinking he could just threaten the nobility with his army when they wouldn’t do as he pleased. He had forgotten that that all of his generals were either the lords’ children, or otherwise related to them, and when the lords had felt enough was enough, not only did the taxes stop coming into the royal coffers, but the army divided itself between those loyal to the crown and those loyal to the opposing faction. It was only a last minute alliance with the Odinson family and bringing in their considerable power to backup the crown that caused the revolt to fall apart before it could truly get started.

Years later, James found his father’s death a little too convenient. James was nineteen then, of age to take over the throne, and his father had fallen off his horse while hunting drunk, only a year having passed since the almost-revolt. It was simply far too much of a coincidence to believe it had been an accident. There were no suspects though, no hint of foul play, nothing but the general dislike people had of his father. Though honestly, James hadn’t wasted many resources looking into it. He didn’t have any warm feelings towards his father. The man had treated him as a needed spare, something to have, but never bothering to pay him much attention. His father had been a womanizer, keeping lovers left, right, and center right under his mother’s nose. While Bucky could have forgiven that, the facts of political marriage being what they were, flaunting his conquests, having them sit to his right while his mother had to sit to the left, left his mother as the butt of the court’s jokes. The queen disrespected by her own king. James never forgave him for the shame and haunted look in his mother's eyes.

As the king got older, the his antics had only grown worse; drinking more, becoming erratic, and cruel to his own family. He married off James’ eldest sister to a man like himself, old and a chronic drunkard with more inherited money than brains. When his mother had tried to oppose the union, the king had had the gall to strike her across the face in front of foreign dignitaries. There was no end to the shame his mother had had to suffer under his father's rule. When the man died, Bucky’s only feelings were of joy.

Yet, he had learned from his father’s mistakes and made sure to keep his court happy, to balance the needs of the lord's so there was never a large enough fraction dissatisfied with him at once to cause trouble. Hence his reason to write letters to well after dark when he was tired and his head ached. It couldn’t be put off. Tomorrow there would be other matters to attend to and it was better to do things quickly than wait.

The door opened as he was reaching for the next letter. He could hear the guards hissing at the newcomer, but only two people had the gall to just waltz into the king’s quarters as if they were their own. Tony would have announced himself from the entrance, that being his subtle way of acknowledging the risk James faced every day as the head of state. Loki, on the other hand, loved to make James jump.

“Loki,” James drawled, too tired for the man’s antics and games tonight, “I’m busy. What is it?”

“I have ensured your little dancer has been properly clothed,” Loki said, going straight for the table of snacks and picking a ripe plum from the bowl. He bit into the fruit with relish, making soft sounds of pleasure.

James looked up, staring at the lord and tried to determine just what the hell he meant. He didn’t _have_ a dancer. There were the new performers, the gifts from Rumlow, but there were at least three of them and they already had clothes, as far as James knew.

“You have,” James said slowly, not about to be pulled into Loki’s mess if he could help it. “I suppose thanks are in order?”

“My pleasure, your majesty,” Loki said with a grin. “I do hope you will enjoy my efforts.”

With those words he turned back towards the door, the half-eaten plum still in his hand and swept right back out.

Slowly lowering the sheet of parchment, James took a deep breath and lifted his hands to rub his temples. The reaction meant only one thing - whatever Loki was plotting, he’d already completed his designs and James would have to discover what they were by stumbling upon them. Upon ‘his dancer’, apparently, in their new clothing. Whatever the hell that meant.

Resigning himself to this unknown fate, James decided he’d at least have something pleasant waiting for him soon and strode to the door.

“Have my servants prepare a bath,” he told the runner there, “and send for me when it is ready.”

“Sir,” the runner said, bowing and taking off down the halls to deliver the message. James turned back to his desk. Before he was called, he could get the last few letters finished.

\----

The one part of James' day he could relax, no worries or trials, was his bath. He took one every night, attended by several servants, most of who had served for years now and were as trusted as his advisors. The bathing room had been specially modified for his use, widened to a large octagon, at the center of which was the large tub. Water was piped in from the well, heated beneath the stone tub itself so he could sit in the warm water for hours if he desired. The room was built into two tiers, the taller half for him to get in and out, the lower half for his servants to stand to assist him without needing to kneel on the marble floor or end up soaked themselves. Someone cared for the flowering vines that wrapped around the room’s columns, taking in light from the large windows that overlooked the palace gardens.

Instead of a room bustling with servants, however, James entered a quiet space with a single, unrecognizable figure standing with his back turned to the tub. The bath was drawn, the air scented with foreign incense, rose petals floating on the surface of the water, subtly adding their own scent to the air, but his servants were nowhere to be seen, just steam rising from the water itself.

Hesitant in case he needed to summon his guards, James said, “And who might you be?”

The figure whirled about, silver and black gleaming in the lantern light. James very nearly swallowed his tongue. The male dancer, the slave given to him for his birthday, stood before him in clothing James knew must have come from Loki as this must have been what he’d been talking about. James swallowed, his throat suddenly dry at the sight of all that smooth skin, the trim body exposed to his gaze, the effect only amplified by the way the dark material framed his bewitching figure. The clothes draped his dancer’s frame perfectly, leaving his torso exposed but the rest hinted at, and leaving James aching to see more. The blond man's eyes were lined with kohl, making him look coy, exotic, and so goddamned inviting. James wanted to touch, wanted to run his hands down the firm sides, touch that silky fabric, see how warm and smooth the skin was beneath his fingers. He wanted to push the man down, spread him out on silk sheets, and just take his fill. He wanted to taste and touch, hear what kind of sounds his dancer would make. James wanted fiercely and suddenly, and the sheer power of the desire confused him. He had never before felt anything like it.

“Oh.”

The word seemed to jolt the lithe blond back into the moment and he swept into a deep, graceful bow.

“Your majesty,” he said, voice surprisingly low and rich for a body so small. “My name is Steve. You… asked for me?”

James smiled, slipping out of his heavy, formal overcoat.

“I’m afraid that is not the case, Steve,” James answered. “Though your presence is… not unwelcome. You are incredibly pleasing to look at.” Something angry flashed through Steve’s brilliant blue eyes and James stilled. “You did not volunteer to join me tonight.”

The surprise, shock, and worry that crossed his dancer’s - damn Loki for putting the idea into his head - face was disturbing. It was a look he had seen a time or two on faces of his father’s conquests, and one he’d never wished directed his way. It was the look of a person uncertain if their answer would mean their death.

“Were you threatened?” James demanded, stepping closer to the beautiful man.

“N-no, sire,” Steve answer instantly, his eyes widening as he looked up at James.

James sighed.

“Loki has a way of making people do things,” he murmured. The heat of the room and the day’s exertions were getting to him, so he dropped the jacket also, wishing for more air, some kind of inspiration with how to deal with this.

“He said,” surprised, James looked up to find the dancer watching him with quiet intensity, “that while I attended to you, no one would bother my friends, the rest of the Alalihat Aleayima.”

Lips twisting with disappointment and irritation, James toed out of his shoes as he looked out the window.

“You’re here to earn my favor,” he said, his voice dropping into that gravel only strong emotions caused. He had no idea why this knowledge made his chest feel tight and his throat sour. He knew how the palace worked, he _knew_ it. He’d been raised with it, and it should have been the first thing that came to his mind. Political games and currying favors. Hell, he often used the same techniques to his advantage. Yet today, with this particular dancer, this nasty fact of life was brought home that nobody ever wanted James the man. All they wanted was his power and influence. He jerked his shirt over his head and flung it angrily at the door. He tended to be more careful of his clothes, not willing to add to the servants work, but today his usual goodwill seemed to have evaporated completely.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said and the honesty froze James’ anger in place. “Forgive me, I did not mean to upset you so, but I was not brought here of my own free will. If I can earn some freedom for my friends with my virginity,” James swallowed hard, “I will pay that price, but it is a fee, not a gift.”

The words were polite, but firm, and James couldn’t help but be struck by their sincerity. There were no innuendos, no political games. Steve wanted something, and in return he’d do what he had been asked, but he was making no bones about having the same desire that burned beneath James' skin. It was such a temptation to just say yes, to take, gather that small body in his arms, lay it beneath him and enjoy its many, many pleasures. Yet to do so, he knew, would to destroy the thing he cherished. Tarnish and break it, the way his father had broken his mother.

Taking another step closer, James asked, “And what if I told you the man who made you these promises cannot keep them?”

James wasn’t sure why he even asked, but the look that crossed Steve’s features made his heart race.

“You can,” Steve insisted, holding his ground admirably..

“I can,” James agreed, “but if I will not?”

The dancer’s dark eyebrows drew together, his posture growing stiff and tight. It was his hands that drew James' gaze, though, the long fingers elegant and trembling, the jewelry catching the eye.

“I would insist you send me away.”

Mouth dry, James stared into Steve’s frightened, but defiant blue eyes. He had no idea why he had pushed this so far, why he had made Steve say the words that would have been a death sentence should anyone else have heard. No one defied the king, especially not a slave. Yet there his dancer stood, shaking, and telling him no, and it was somehow exactly what he wanted to hear.

Turning away, James began stripping out of his silk shirt.

“I cannot. If I dismiss you so soon, the court will believe you have displeased me and expect disciplinary action. You will have to remain until I am finished.“ He motioned to a padded, backed chair. “You should be comfortable there and you needn’t fear for you friends. You all will be under my protection.”

James sighed, remembering what he had inferred about Loki. As much as he didn’t like defending the man, he wasn’t about to discredit his standing either. He fully believed that there were parts of his court that were more terrified of Loki than of anything else.

“And whatever else Loki Odinson is, he has power and influence enough to keep your friends safe. Not many people would dare to outright oppose him, not for a group of slaves. He tends to be vengeful, that one. Between the two of us, no one will bother them.”

The jingle of Steve’s clothing alerted James that he was coming closer and he fought not to turn to look at the dancer.

“I… don’t understand, sire. You at once sound as if you are accepting my offer and refusing it.”

James growled a little under his breath while reaching for his pants. If he couldn’t have a willing partner in the bath, he could at least have the bath itself. He jerked his pants open and pushed them down, careless of his nakedness. Stepping out of the rest of his clothes, he reached for his hair and pulled the royal blue ribbon out of it, tossing it the way the rest of his clothes had gone while shaking his hair loose.

“Oh, I would like to bend you over the edge of the bath and see just how many times night I could make you reach your peak this night, but I’m not interested in having the unwilling between my legs. If I feel the need, there are those who would offer to come to my bed. I much prefer someone enjoying my company rather than suffering through it.”

This time James didn’t hear Steve’s clothing jingle and started when a small hand closed lightly over his bicep. He half-turned, looking down into blue eyes still confused and eyebrows still drawn together. But he was _touching_ James, willingly, _uninvited_ , and it stole his breath away.

“Yet you’ll help me,” Steve said and it wasn’t a question.

James turned further towards his dancer, careful not to disturb the strangely forward touch.

“I’m not a monster,” he said wryly. “Just like you had no choice in being brought here, I had no choice into what kind of land I was born.”

“Then,” Steve licked his lips and James was captivated by how pink his tongue was, “may I assist with your bath, sire?”

James looked at the slim hand and the way the dancer was still keeping his body distant while touching James’ arm.

“You sure you can handle washing a naked man?” James murmured, making a show of looking down at himself and his nudity.

Flushing, Steve glared at him.

“I could handle you any day of the week,” he said hotly. Though after a bit of a pause, he added, “Sir.”

Laughing, James covered Steve’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“I like to be very clean,” James touched his lips to one of the rings, “so I expect you to be devoted to the job.”

The bob of Steve’s throat was captivating and James itched to lean down and fit his mouth to Steve’s pulse.

“Then you will squeak when I’m done with you, sire,” Steve declared.

Still laughing, James let go of Steve’s hand and turned to climb into the bath. “Looking forward to it,” he assured, watching as the dancer reached for the basket of scented soaps and soft washcloths.

In moments Steve had a thick lather on the soft cloth and had slipped down the steps to stand behind James. His hands were gentle when they brought the soaped-up washcloth to James' shoulder. He was hesitant at first, unsure how to proceed, but James refrained from teasing him. His usual servants scrubbed him like he was a dog to be washed: fast and hard, often leaving him pink afterward and feeling a bit abused. He still remembered the time before Jarvis had been a king’s Chamberlain, and the way he would scrub behind his ears until he begged for mercy. The man was horrifyingly efficient and Steve’s gentleness was a nice change to the usual handling. James relaxed in the bath, letting himself rest his back against the warm stone edge, tilting closer to Steve as the dancer ran the soft, warm cloth over James' shoulders, his neck, gently rubbing over the tensed muscles.

“Dip your head into the water?” Steve asked, his voice a little hoarse, and James murmured his agreement as he slid bonelessly under the water until it closed over his head. Then he sat up to turn and look back at his dancer.

“I think you should come into the bath,” James invited. “It’s not like you can reach everything from where you stand.”

Steve had the gall to roll his eyes at him.

“And I would have to strip to do it?”

James thought about that, getting to see all that wonderful skin and hard, tight muscles hugging every bone, every curve. He also thought of Steve getting into the water in his clothes, making it stick to his body even more than it already did, highlighting all the curves and planes that were hidden from James' view. He couldn’t decide which would be more exciting, to see Steve naked and soft, vulnerable, or maybe subtly challenging, wet clothes clinging to him, gently outlining the dancers cock…

“You don’t have to strip,” he said, his own voice a little hoarse as his body reacted to the want that coursed through his blood.

The long look Steve gave him spoke volumes in and of itself. Not quite a glare, but his dancer was utterly unimpressed by his suggestion.

James huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m already doing what I can not to touch you. The way you look? You would ask the same thing if you could see yourself,” James murmured, making a vague gesture towards all the prettiness.

Steve lowered his gaze and two spots of color appeared high on his cheekbones.

“I don’t want to get the clothing wet. It’ll ruin it.”

James raised an eyebrow.

“I honestly don’t care.”

“Don’t care?” Steve practically squeaked. “How can you not care? Have you seen this?” He thrust his arm in front of James' face. “That’s real silver and gold and leather and linen. It’s worth a fortune.”

“It’s just clothes, Loki has more money than sense. You naked? Or wet? That I would like to see.” James licked his lips.

Jaw working, Steve finally snapped it shut and huffed, “Kings,” in a tone James didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone use with him. Then he fixed James with a speculative look. James loved the way it made Steve’s lip push out unconsciously and the way his chest huffed in exasperation. He was more interesting every second, and the angrier he got, the more attractive he was to James.

Turning from James, Steve went to a padded chair. He picked up a towel, and looked back at James.

“I was told not to turn my back on you. Would you be offended if I did for a moment?”

“No,” James drawled catching on to Steve’s plan. “I won’t mind.” He slid a little lower into the water. “Not at all,” he murmured, settling in for a show.

Surprise flickered bright in Steve’s eyes and he stopped, turning about with his back to James. Then he pulled his miniscule top off, sliding it off his shoulders and laying it on the bench. The exposed expanse of slim, muscled back shifted with muscles and he loved how it moved as Steve undressed himself.

Then he was pushing down the black and silver pants, sliding them slowly down his hips, nervous and hesitant, or maybe both. Whatever it was, James didn’t think it was a purposeful tease what with the way Steve’s ears and the back of his neck turned red, but now he could see what he’d imagined. James couldn't help but trace his eyes to the small groove in Steve’s back, the way the shadow of his spine led to the tiny swell of his ass, the shadows above it looking like the perfect handholds. The cheeks were so small and so tight, looking like James' hand could span both of them if he stretched his fingers out, it made his heart trip over itself at the thought of actually spreading those cheeks of trying to fit himself between them. He couldn't stop imagining how small Steve would be under him, how incredible it would be to try and fit himself into that small body.

 

 

It was on display for only a moment, and then Steve shook out the towel and wrapped it about his waist, tying it in place and hiding himself from view again.

“So cruel,” James murmured, pitching his voice low.

When he turned around this time, Steve was smiling, sweet and mischievous.

“I could have refused to get in with you,” he teased, walking to the tub edge and climbing in.

“True,” James agreed easily, “but then, you promised to make me squeaky clean and it would have been so hard to do from where you were standing.” James raised his foot and wriggled his toes. “There’s a lot of me to wash.”

“There certainly is,” Steve murmured, walking toward James in the water. “I’m not sure how it manages to fit in the bath at all along with your ego.”

James laughed, but it was cut off mid-sound as Steve picked up the washcloth again and got close enough his leg pressed to James'. The towel was high enough it was skin-to-skin contact, warm even in the heated water. Then Steve was washing him again, looking into his eyes and the were so beautiful. Cornflower blue, lined with khol that was starting to smudge from the steam in the air. James watched with half-closed eyes as he finished both his arms, all the way down to his fingers, scrubbing at his skin gently but more confidently than ever. When he finished, he leaned even closer, grabbing the jar set out for cleaning and keeping his hair soft. They were so close as Steve stretched up to work the lather into James' hair, his fingers strong and massaging his scalp. It was a welcome treat, his skin aching a little after a whole day in a tight ponytail and he melted into the contact, barely keeping his eyes open. There was a hypnotic rhythm to Steve’s muscles as he worked and a lovely sheet of moisture on his flushed face.

“Rinse,” Steve said, breaking the moment and yet shifting it at the same time with how soft and gentle his voice was.

Obeying, he emerged at the surface and couldn’t help but lock his eyes with the dulcet blue of his dancer. Indeed, he was the most enticing creature James had ever seen. As he reached down to lather James' chest and belly, James realised he was already half-hard. Feeling that careful yet firm touch on his belly and sides, skimming down his hips, his cock rose eagerly between his legs, the warm water only stimulating him more. He did nothing, did not touch his dancer. Instead he leant back, resting his arms on the stone lip of the tub. He wouldn’t reach out, but he was curious about what Steve would do. The dancer’s eyes were lowered as he focused on his task, but eventually there was no way to avoid the area.

When Steve took a deep breath, bracing himself, and reached with the soft washcloth for James' groin, it was almost entertaining. His touch was hesitant, slipping down over his hips and between his legs. The color grew on Steve’s cheeks, darker and redder, and then his hand brushed James' cock. Sucking in a breath, his eyes jumped to James', wide and oddly shocked. Then they skittered away again, and the blush darkened, the red tint going up his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. The breath stopped in James' chest in that moment. Steve looked divine with his hair curling up from the moisture and the color flooding his skin.

“I warned you,” James murmured softly, remaining utterly still.

Steve took a deep breath, lifting his eyes back to James'. This time they stayed, a challenge burning deep in his gaze as he reached down and wrapped a hand, covered with the soapy cloth, around James' shaft. James couldn’t help the gasp that left him at the sudden sensation sliding over his engorged cock, the skin tingling with pleasure as Steve inadvertently stroked him while cleaning him. His dancer kept looking into his eyes, determined and stubborn even, as he grew redder by the second. James wasn’t sure the man even breathed, but who was he to judge? He wasn’t breathing either.

Steve finally looked away, bending down as he reached further between James' legs, when the washcloth slipped from his grasp. Hissing a quiet curse, he bent lower to retrieve the cloth and James was abruptly jerked from his pleasant fantasies as he noticed the ring of reddened, abraded skin visible under the the heavy slave collar. Whatever enjoyment he had taken from the bath evaporated in an instant as he saw how serious the abrasions were. He abandoned his position, reaching out to catch Steve about his shoulders.

Alarmed, Steve froze, staring up at James nervously. With fear. It cut sharply into James' heart to see that look turned on him.

“The collar is hurting you,” James said sharply and Steve swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said uncertainly. “The dancing, and the acrobatics, it… I’ve never done a show with something like this on.”

James tilted his head back and yelled as loud as he could, “Jarvis!”

Steve flinched from the noise, sinking half under the water, but the sound had barely echoed through the enclosed space before the door was opening and his chamberlain entered.

“Yes, your majesty?” Jarvis asked, bowing deeply.

“Open his collar,” James said, pointing at Steve.

Jarvis pursed his lips. James knew it wasn’t that Jarvis had anything against taking collars off of slaves, it was just that the meaning of this gesture could have serious implications for James. He was not unaware of that, though. He looked at Jarvis, trying to catch his loyal servant’s eye.

“I’m not freeing him. The collar is hurting him, probably hurting all of the people in the troupe. They need smaller, lighter ones.”

Jarvis only nodded.

“As you wish Sir,” he said and pulled out a large set of keys on a ring from his belt. He approached the bath, not giving any indication that seeing a half-naked Steve with James was in any way out of norm, and gestured for the dancer to come closer to him. As Steve did, Jarvis unlocked the collar in one, quick move, but didn’t take it off.

Bowing to James again, he asked, “Is that all?”

Nodding, James gestured that Jarvis could leave if he wanted.

“Yes, thank you, Jarvis.”

James reached for the collar and curled his fingers over the heavy metal. Holding as still as James before, Steve silently watched him with wide eyes. James wanted to wipe the vague shadow of hurt from him, wanted to ensure he couldn’t be hurt anymore, and wanted to kill Rumlow for putting that collar on him in the first place. Though, if Rumlow hadn’t, James wouldn’t have had the chance to meet Steve.

Slowly, carefully away, James pulled the metal away, making sure he wasn’t hurting Steve more until he could throw the heavy thing onto the floor with a loud clang. His dancer’s neck looked even worse without the adornment; it had dug into his flesh about his collarbone, red and angry marks where the skin had been rubbed clean off in strips along the bone. A dark bruise wrapped about the circumference, purple and blue, fresh and hardly healed. It made James' skin crawl, made him want to break something, or someone. It made him want to ensure Steve’s safety, his well-being. James wanted to take care of his dancer.

“Wait here,” James said getting up, unconcerned with the water splashing to the floor as he got out of the bath. Going to his clothes and rifling through them, he found the royal blue ribbon that he’d used to tie his hair. Turning back he climbed again into the bath, then knelt in front of Steve, who was still watching him with wide, startled eyes, his hand hovering over his abused throat.

“I can’t let you leave this room without a collar; it would cause… problems. Having too much of a King’s favor is as bad as not having any,” James tried to explain as he reached for the thin hands still at Steve’s neck and pulled them gently away. His dancer let him, trusting him to touch his damaged skin and James was as careful as ever when tying the ribbon about Steve’s neck. He was looking at James, eyes dark and hooded, as he waited for James to finish marking him as a slave. James swallowed the words of apology on his tongue. He wasn’t the one to put Steve in this position and, even though he was king, he couldn't do much about it right now. He couldn’t free Steve because he was a gift, and the one who gave him was an influential general. Even though Steve was his now, Rumlow had power in the court. If James freed Steve after receiving him, it would be a horrible slight. As much as he didn’t like Rumlow personally, the man had many loyal troops under his control. James couldn’t risk the fragile peace of the country for a single slave.

“This shade of blue is the color of my House,” James told Steve. “Nobody has the right to wear it, without my permission. It will be a clear enough mark of my favor. It’s only temporary… but it will make you look like you are my consort now,” James warned him. “You can’t deny it.” James stressed. "To anyone. Not even your friends, because in this place? Walls have ears, and a secret remains a secret only as long as it’s never spoken aloud.”

“What, um,” Steve swallowed, glancing down and back up at James, “if they find out? What would happen?”

“Best case scenario? You’re accused of misleading the guards, taking off the collar, and possibly stealing the ribbon, after which you will be publicly executed.”

“That’s the best case scenario?!” Steve blurted, eyes so round James worried he might hurt himself.

“Worst case, General Rumlow thinks it’s all a rouse to make him look bad, gets mortally offended, pulls his troops to stand against me, and starts a revolt that will cause hundreds of deaths, if not more. Perhaps a combination of these outcomes. And those are just the ones off the top of my head. That’s politics, Steve.”

“And now I’m a part of this…. insanity,” Steve said shakily.

“Yes,” James said, feeling a wave of sadness come over him. “I’m afraid you are.”

Swallowing hard, Steve straightened up, throwing his shoulders back like a soldier going into battle.

“I suppose, anyone in your court, or who wishes your friendship would have to put up with such.”

Surprised, James nodded. From someone such as Steve he hadn’t expected understanding of his position, or what it meant to be close to him. There was the chance Steve was trying to retain his favor, of course, but James didn’t think that was likely. Not when his dancer had been so quick to state his intentions, and bold enough to refuse him entirely.

“Thanking me wouldn’t be appropriate, so I hope you’re not about to,” Steve said abruptly.

James laughed, then snatched Steve’s hand up in his own again.

“I am glad to call you friend,” he said, pressing his lips to small knuckles. “Especially one who does such a good job of getting me clean.”

Lips twitching in a restrained smile, Steve said, “Do you squeak now, sire?”

“Bucky,” James said impulsively, “When we’re alone, I’d like it if you called me Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Steve repeated, and now he did smile.

“It’s what my sisters called me.” Steve didn’t back away or speak, so Bucky decided to keep taking chances on the lovely, little dancer. “I have three sisters, Rebecca, Anne, and Corrin. Rebecca is the oldest. My father married her off when I was very young to a man even worse than my father. She was just fifteen. It was Rebecca who gave me the nickname.” He licked his lips. “I always liked that name because my father never used it, only me and my sister did.”

“You didn’t like your father,” Steve said carefully, glancing at Bucky’s eyes and then down at his hand, still held in Bucky’s.

“He was a cruel and selfish man,” Bucky said quietly. “It cost me a lot of money and influence to get my sister back. I risked a lot, but she’s safe and sound.”

“You were testing me,” Steve said abruptly. “When you were suggesting you wouldn’t… It was a test. You would never have made me follow through.”

Bucky slid his fingers down Steve’s forearm, teasing the small hairs there. He wanted to touch more, wanted to move closer, slide his leg between Steve’s legs, feel the strong muscles there. He watched Steve, the way his eyelids fluttered down. He slid closer, putting his hand on Steve’s hip, over the thick cloth of the wet towel. Steve exhaled, and shifted into Bucky, raising his own hand to rest on Bucky's shoulder. He wasn’t pushing Bucky away, and at that Bucky smiled.

“I want to touch you,” he murmured bending his head closer to Steve.

“I’ve never,” Steve’s throat bobbed again. “I haven’t…”

“Ever?” Bucky asked, surprised enough he didn’t attempt to get closer again.

“I… No, never. “ Steve murmured quietly. “I never found a partner I wanted to with.”

“Do you think you would want to with me? Eventually?” Bucky all but whispered, close enough that he could smell the rich scent of herbs on Steve’s skin.

“I think I’d like to find out,” Steve whispered as well, his voice soft and uncertain, and so captivating.

Bucky put his other hand on Steve’s hip and pressed even that little bit closer. His thighs pressed to the roughness of the towel, his softened groin against Steve’s belly. Yet even still his dancer didn’t back away, he stared up at Bucky, eyes round and luminous, fingers curled lightly over his skin.

“I want to be the one you try it with,” Bucky whispered, lowering his head until his lips hovered just millimeters above Steve’s lips.

Blue eyes darted to his lips and back, quick again and again. Then Steve scrunched his eyes shut, took a deep breath and shifted that little bit closer. Their lips pressed together, rough and chaste, hard, and with a fire Bucky hadn’t expected. Steve was heat and presence under his hands, skin smooth as silk and so addicting. It was he that nearly fell back but he steadied himself, gripping Steve’s hips harder, and pulling him closer. The soft whimper that left his dancer went straight to James’ cock and he had to step back, lest he take more than was being offered.

“Did I,” Steve swallowed and Bucky was captivated by his lips, swollen and lush and pink, “Was that not right?”

“Oh, darling, that was wonderful,” Bucky assured, smiling at Steve warmly. “Only, your sweetness tempts me too much. I fear that is all I can bear.”

The blush that colored Steve’s cheeks made Bucky’s smile grow, even as Steve scowled and gave him a slight shove.

“Charmer,” Steve accused. A moment later he was stepping backward, out of the bath. Turning about, he grabbed another towel and held it out for Bucky. Though the thought of having Steve rub him down was more than a bit appealing, he didn’t think he could manage without taking.

Stepping from the tub after him, Bucky took the proffered towel. He was hard again, his blood constantly pounding when his thoughts went to his dancer. Bucky didn’t try to hide it. He looked at Steve, locked his eyes with him and started drying himself, first rubbing at his wet hair, then drying his arms and shoulders. All the while, he made sure his gaze was locked on Steve. His dancer didn’t look away, licking his lips with his the blush still high on his cheeks. His eyes, dark right now, skittered over Bucky’s body. They locked on his, and then skittered down to take in his chest, his flat stomach, and in the way his cock was still proud and thick, proclaiming his interest without saying a word.

Bucky licked his own lips as he slid the towel over his belly, the ends of it touching his cock in the lightest of caresses and he could swear they both inhaled in unison at the way the organ jumped at the slight stimulation. Bucky didn’t blink, didn’t want to lose a single millisecond of this moment as he finished drying off, running the soft towel over his groin, his legs, all the while aware of Steve’s burning gaze. Once he knew he wasn’t dripping water, he reached for the soft robe prepared for him by the servants. Throughout it all, Steve didn't move, didn't even twitch, frozen in place.

“Aren’t you going to get dry, too?” Bucky asked, his voice hoarse and broken as he wrapped the robe around himself.

Steve’s hands went to the edges of the thick, wet towel still wrapped around him and he hesitated. Eventually he pressed his lips together and turned around, this time without asking permission and Bucky felt his heart swell just at that. The wet towel fell, showing Bucky the full expanse of Steve’s naked back and the small, tight cheeks. Bucky was dying to catch them in his hands, spread them to see the entrance to Steve’s body, taste him and see if Steve was made for him just the way he suspected his dancer was.

He didn’t, though, he watched, not speaking as Steve dried himself. Tight muscles shifted under pale, delicate skin as he ran the soft towel over himself and then started pulling on his gifted clothes, the black material. The metal scales highlighted how beautiful and sexy his dancer was.

Turning, Steve looked to him again, shy as his gaze flicked down and up Bucky before he seemed to make himself settle on his eyes.

“Is that all you require of me then, sire?”

Bucky licked his lips and, for a brief moment, wished he could be selfish and tell Steve to stay.

“I think it’s safe for you to go now,” he said with a nod.

Steve began to bow, but aborted the movement and walked to Bucky again. Pressing a hand to Bucky’s chest, over his heart, he asked, “When can I see you again?”

“Soon, I hope,” Bucky answered. “When it won’t put you in danger.”

The smile that took over Steve’s face was brilliant. He bowed this time, stepping back again as he did. Bucky had a final, last thought of grabbing him, keeping him close, and then abandoned it as he had each time before. Patience, he knew, would reap the sweetest of rewards.

“Have a good night, sir,” Steve murmured before turning around and leaving the bath chamber and leaving Bucky alone.


	4. Chapter 4

The walk back to the barracks itself was a bit of a blur. It was late enough the corridors were empty, just Steve and the guards escorting him moving through the hallways. Guards escorted him this time, but he thought they were there for his protection more than to prevent his escape. It was such a strange feeling to have everything turned on its head in a mere hour. To have his status change, to know he was not thought of by the king as a conquest, or a gift, but as a person. 

Steve touched the ribbon about his neck for the dozenth time.

A person to be protected.

The guards opened the barracks door and Steve walked in to find his friends all sitting up, or standing, staring at him. They were silent, clearly waiting for some kind of sign. Steve didn’t know what to tell them. He couldn’t tell them the truth, that he hadn’t had sex with the king, that he wasn’t his consort. Not that he believed they would tell, but it had felt like a promise despite no such words being spoken. The consequences, of course, were horrific, but it wasn’t a threat that stayed his tongue.

“Steve?” Sharon asked hesitantly.

“Darling?” Peggy questioned, stepping forward from where she’d been standing with Clint. “Are you all right?”

Reaching up, Steve touched the ribbon again. Was he all right? He thought he was, but now he was involved in a world he barely understood, where merely telling the truth of the last hour could mean a civil war. It could mean his head to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and who knew how many others like Lord Loki Odinson would attempt to use him as a bargaining chip. 

And then there was the thought of Bucky’s hands, gentle and tender as they removed the iron from his throat.

“What did he do to you?” Clint hissed, striding forward with anger burning in his eyes.

That brought Steve from his stupor and he swallowed hard.

“I think I like him.”

The words brought the troupe to a standstill, Clint mid-step. 

“Oh boy,” Sam breathed. 

\----

“One and two and three and four!” Peggy shouted, clapping her hands in time with the numbers.

Steve tightened his muscles, locking his knees and clenching, well, everything, really as Clint hoisted him up, his grip on Steve’s hips bruising-strong. Steve shifted, his arms spreading in the previously agreed formation and he tilted back, feeling Clint’s heels dig into the small of his back as he balanced above the other acrobat. It was so much easier to keep his balance without the heavy steel around his throat, so much more natural to move his head, arch his neck and his whole body into the hold.

“The king!” 

Steve looked over, and even though the announcement should have been warning enough it wasn’t. He saw Bucky standing there by the door, framed by his guards, dressed in black and royal blue formal clothes that did not detract from his heavy, muscled body. Unconsciously, Steve tilted towards the man. 

A moment later, he heard Clint yelp and at the same time felt the break in their balance just before he was sent crashing down, head first, toward the ground. It was only Clint’s lightning fast reflexes that saved him from breaking his head open on the stone flagons of the courtyard they were practicing in. Clint managed to catch him awkwardly around his legs and then toss him sideways so he had enough time and space to roll before he striking the floor. Unfortunately, he landed, bruising his ass, and cringing. Standing quickly, Steve refused to rub his now sore butt as he, Clint, and Peggy all faced the king and their owner and bowed. 

Steve didn’t think he’d ever stop blushing.

“That was quite the save, Mr. Barton,” Bucky - King Barnes, Steve reminded himself - said as he and his entourage stopped before them. 

“Thank you, sir,” Clint answered, before tossing Steve a _look_. “Someone grew distracted.”

The skin of his face felt hot, Steve blushed so hard.

“And I paid for it, didn’t I?” he grumbled, glaring at Clint.

“Perhaps a change of venue for your practicing is in order,” Bucky - King Barnes - suggested. “The gardens? A fall on the grass will not be as bad as a fall upon stone, and we wouldn’t want my favored consort knocked unconscious, would we?”

A fresh wave of humiliation washed over Steve, and he wished he could sink right into the ground. 

“Certainly not, sir,” Clint answered immediately. “With your permission, we’d be happy to practice in a safer place.”

“Though,” Peggy chimed in, “it might be best if your majesty wasn’t watching so Steve does not grow increasingly distracted as he tends to when he is attracted to someone.”

Yes, Steve decided, the gods could just strike him dead right here and now and that would be great, thanks.

“Looking at the color of him, I feel it would be a great sacrifice on my part,” Bucky drawled with a smirk on his lips.

Before Steve died, he was going to kill Peggy. Clint, too, for good measure. 

“I came to deliver a gift,” Bucky said looking behind himself and mentioning a servant forward. “For all of you and Steve in particular.”

Steve kept looking at Bucky, at the soft way he was in turn looking at Steve, until the servant came to stand in front of Bucky, a large box in his hands. Reaching out, Bucky lifted the lid and then reached inside.

“The collars you were given are too heavy for you. They’re designed for criminals, not artists.” Bucky pulled up a collar made of metal, but maybe a fifth in width compared to the ones they had been forced into by Rumlow’s men. “I have asked my chamberlain to come by later and exchange your old collars for these,” he indicated the box where there was a neat row of those thin collars visible. “This should help keep you from injury.”

“Sire,” Clint said, turning Steve’s head at the shock in his voice, “thank you.”

“We’re honored, sir,” Peggy agreed, curtseying again. “On behalf of the entire troupe, thank you.”

Steve tore his eyes away from his friends, only to realize Bucky was staring at him intently. It didn’t look like he’d looked away at all and his face lit itself on fire all over again.

“I have a special one for you,” Bucky said quietly, as if they were the only two people in the room. 

Reaching up, Steve touched his fingers to the blue ribbon still tied around his neck, freshly replaced that morning, protective of it even though he had known it was only temporary. Bucky nodded at the servant again and the man stepped back. Another stepped forward holding a small, wooden box with intricate, engravings across its polished surface. 

“There is a story behind this,” Bucky murmured as he opened the box and pulled out an intricately carved, golden collar. Carved in its surface were interconnected, delicate designs that reminded Steve of leaves. There were dozens, if not hundreds of them, like a flowering vine, curling over each other. The tiny petals shaped a three-dimensional surface and in between the leaves were sparkling blue stones. Sapphires, Steve realized, scattered along the length of it. Each gem was framed by a ring of small diamonds, catching the light and dazzling the eye as Bucky turned back to Steve with the collar in hand. 

“My great-grandfather lost his wife to childbirth early in his life.” Bucky murmured as he opened the collar, the gold parting easily, well hidden hinges giving way without a squeak. “He grieved for her for a long time and was gifted a slave from exotic lands by his cousin. The story is,” Bucky came closer, “that he and Alara fell in love the moment they laid eyes on each other. In those times, there were no laws to free slaves. He couldn’t marry her, but he loved her so much. He made this collar himself, just as he did hundreds of other pieces of jewelry. He loved and cherished her for many long years, even when the court pressed him to get rid of her and take up a younger concubine, one capable of giving him an heir. Even though his chosen never gave him children, he remained faithful to her. She died before him, but his love was so great he never again took a consort and, after he died, left orders to be buried at her side. To this day they remain symbols of true love in my country.” 

Steve watched, stunned at the extravagancy of the gift. Gold was of little use as an actual collar, too easily bent out of shape to actually hold someone in place. The gems were worth far more than Steve had ever seen at once, let alone had been entrusted with. That didn’t even begin to cover the history behind the gift, that it had been Bucky’s ancestor’s and had meant so much, not just to the family, but to the kingdom. 

“I think this gift will fit you.” Bucky raised the collar to Steve’s neck. “I want you to wear it.”

“Sire,” Steve said once he managed to make his tongue work, “I can’t possibly…”

“You can,” Bucky insisted, grey eyes focused and brilliant as the gems on the collar he held. “Let me protect you this way.”

Blinking rapidly, Steve understood all at once. The ribbon was royal blue, the color belonging to the king. The sapphires were the same, brilliant shade. This was more than just an expensive gift, or a symbol of true love, or love at first sight. It was a shield.

“Thank you,” Steve breathed, his throat suddenly tight. He held still as Bucky reached for the ribbon about his neck, shivering and closing his eyes as his fingertips brushed his skin. Neither the bruising, nor the raw skin had healed, but it was an electric sensation nonetheless. Then cool metal pressed to his skin, there was a soft click, and the warmth of Bucky’s hands withdrew.

Eyes snapping open, Steve looked helplessly at Bucky as he felt his heart melt into a puddle at his feet.

“When will you send for me next, sir?” Steve blurted before he could think twice about the question.

Bucky’s eyes widened before his lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t smile.

“When I choose to.”

Steve barely managed to stop the scowl at the answer. He wanted to be called to the king’s chambers or anywhere. He wanted to see him again, to talk to him alone where they didn’t have to pretend to be, well, who and what they were.

“Will you choose to tonight, sir?” Steve asked, because he might as well. In for a penny and all that.

Reaching up, Bucky cupped his chin and tilted his head back. Steve shivered again and Bucky brushed his thumb over his lower lip, making it tingle, and making Steve think of that single kiss they’d shared. 

“I may,” Bucky said, but this time he did smile, soft and warm, curling his perfect lips upward and lighting his eyes. It was, Steve realized, the best answer he would get. And, if he wasn’t being a complete idiot - he was being _an_ idiot - he thought the smile was a yes.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky had been distracted most of the day after seeing Steve. The moment he’d walked into the court and seen his dancer fall, his heart had been in his throat. All he could do was watch as Steve fell head first toward the stone courtyard, helpless. Then Clint Barton, the other acrobat, was catching him, heaving and tossing, and Steve was rolling, ending up on his ass. He’d been highly embarrassed, but Bucky had been nothing but impressed. It explained now why his dancer was so fearless in the air when he had someone supporting him he could trust with his life.

And then that blush on Steve’s skin for the rest of their visit… Bucky had wanted to abandon his duties and take him to bed then and there. And that demand to see him again tonight had been so audacious, yet had confirmed what the other two performers had implied: Steve was not unaffected by their kiss the night before. Leaving him had been difficult, but Bucky managed by promising himself he would send for Steve that night, then simply had only to endure the wait and Loki’s taunting comments on whatever outfit he had chosen for Steve that evening.

Admittedly, Bucky wasn’t very pleased Loki was picking his consort’s clothing, but if it entertained the man and kept him out of any real mischief, he wouldn’t protest. Loki did have good taste, Bucky couldn’t deny that. But the thought of what, “It’s marvelous, though I’ve had to purchase a cloak so he can reach you,” meant was worrisome. A tiny little part of Bucky liked that mischievous streak though, and that Steve would be made to blush and glare. His dancer was so cute when he was puffed up in outrage. Since Loki was the one taking so much interest in the slave’s attire, Steve might get angry, but he wouldn't be angry at Bucky.

“Lord Loki Odinson and your consort, your majesty,” Jarvis announced and Bucky stood from his chair by the fireplace before he had registered the movement.

“Thank you,” Bucky said to Jarvis, but his gaze was fixed on the door as it was pushed open and Loki and Steve walked in. Bucky couldn’t have told anyone what Loki was wearing that evening, because his gaze was captured by Steve, draped in a floor-length silver cape that he was holding closed from inside. At once Bucky was irritated with Loki, and dying of curiosity to know what delight was hidden beneath the shimmery fabric.

“Your majesty,” both men chorused, bowing to Bucky.

“Loki,” Bucky drawled, fondly exasperated, “I do not recall summoning you.”

“No, sire,” Loki agreed lightheartedly as they straightened up. “Do you ever?” Bucky couldn't help it, he laughed. “This time, I wished to ensure your consort had appropriate escort along with his attire. We wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas.”

“Your concern is appreciated,” Bucky said sincerely, though he imagined it was only half the truth at best. “You can go now.”

“Of course, sire,” Loki swept away, a small smirk tugging at his thin lips, glancing back to say, “Do let me know what you think of the outfit.”

The doors shut behind him before Bucky could answer. Shaking his head, Bucky stepped closer to Steve. His dancer held his ground staring up at Bucky with a strange mixture of anger and affection in his crystal blue gaze.

“I take it you don’t like the outfit,” Bucky murmured, his voice low and soft the way it seemed to become in Steve’s presence.

“I think this is a gift for you, sir, not me,” Steve answered, but made no motion to take off the cloak.

“Bucky,” Bucky corrected, taking another step closer. “Will you show me?”

Steve stilled, then straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He was so brave, his dancer. So fierce. Under the cloak, his hands slowly fell back to his sides and Bucky had a glimpse of shadowed skin as the firelight struck just right. It was only a moment, though, because Bucky’s gaze was drawn to Steve’s. The challenge in his eyes was like a siren’s song.

“If it is a gift, shouldn’t you be the one to unwrap it?” Steve demanded softly.

The words sent Bucky’s heart racing. Without any further hesitation, he crossed the space between them. The cape tied at the front and he quickly tugged the knot free. The heavy, silver fabric slid off Steve’s shoulders like water, pooling around his feet, and revealing the clothing Loki had procured for him.

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky breathed as he took in the sight before him. To call the outfit clothing was being generous as nearly everything was on display. A long sleeved shrug made of sheer, black mesh lay over his shoulders and chest, leaving his stomach completely bare. Silver jewelry lay beneath; intricate pieces that wrapped around his biceps, wrists, stomach and nipples. The latter were hard, the circular discs pinched about them, highlighting them, and making Bucky’s mouth water. The chain about his belly dripped in a V toward his groin which was the only part of Steve covered. Black lace molded to his flesh, showing the bulge of his hidden cock and balls beneath more black mesh pants that covered more silver adornments that Bucky barely noticed.

Carefully he reached out to place his palms on Steve’s shoulders and scrape them down the sheer cloth, his eyes fixed on the mesh doing nothing to hide the lace of Steve’s undergarments. He could see Steve’s cock, nestled to the right, so clearly.

Bucky licked his lips.

“Can I touch you?”

The eyebrow Steve raised made Bucky strangely hot.

“Where?”

Bucky laughed, a strangled, breathy thing because how could Steve even ask a question like that while looking like every midnight fantasy Bucky had ever had?

“Everywhere.”

That single word caused the blush to finally spread over Steve’s skin, and Bucky’s mouth went dry as he held his hands over Steve’s biceps, waiting for an answer.

“Yes,” Steve breathed and Bucky felt dizzy with the way his blood rushed through his body.

Bucky slid his hands down Steve’s arms, feeling the hard muscles twitch under his palms, to his slightly cold hands. He briefly tangled their fingers together, feeling the slim digits respond in kind, and he smiled as he pushed in closer, lowering his head for a kiss. He slid his hands to Steve’s hips, pulling him in closer while Steve’s hands slid up his arms over the thin silk shirt he wore.

Steve’s mouth opened for him sweetly and Bucky swept his tongue inside as he squeezed. Steve’s hips under his hands were soft and warm as he continued down to Steve’s thighs, and back up, rubbing as Steve melted beneath his mouth, their tongues twisting together. As Steve’s fingers dug into his forearms, Bucky relished the feel of the skin beneath the mesh and lace. He fit his hand over Steve’s groin, cupping the soft cock trapped beneath, indecently exposed by fabric that did nothing to protect it. Steve gasped into his mouth, making Bucky grin as and his hips twitched into his touch. Bucky could feel the cock under his hand growing harder, and he pressed his heel against it as he wormed his other other hand between Steve’s legs. 

“Impatient,” Steve scolded, not bothering to pull from Bucky’s lips as he did. Bucky laughed, kissing Steve harder as his dancer spread his legs obligingly. The hunger in Bucky for this, for Steve, was only growing as he tried to sate it. He found and cupped Steve’s balls too, rubbing at whatever he could get at through the sheer material, until his dancer was trembling, letting out little whimpering, mewling sounds into his mouth.

Tearing his mouth from Bucky’s, Steve arched into him as he threw his head back.

“Oh, Bucky, god,” he moaned, fingernails marking groves in Bucky’s skin. “I’m gonna… If you don’t stop…”

“Give it to me,” Bucky demanded, voice so gravely it was nearly a growl. He pressed his lips to Steve’s throat, nipping just above the collar, along his jaw. “Right here, standing up, still dressed, with just my hands on you.” 

“Oh,” Steve gasped, his hands flying up to clutch at Bucky’s shoulder, his grip unexpectedly bruising in strength.

Bucky growled, his own pleasure spiking at how Steve looked, flushed, easily giving in to the pleasure. He was tilting back, eyes closed, only his hold on Bucky keeping him from toppling over. With the line of his throat exposed to Bucky, he enjoyed nipping and biting it, listening to the heavy rasp of Steve’s breathing and feeling the pulse in his throat against his own skin.

Shifting his grip, trying to get as much of a grip on Steve’s now fully hard cock as he could over the lace, Bucky could feel how big he had gotten. There was a spot of wetness seeping through the lace and Bucky pressed at the place, trying to twist his grip to offer more pleasure, growling as Steve spread his legs even wider, moaning without pause. The quiet, soft mewls stoked the fire growing in Bucky’s own loins, made his hunger grow until he wasn’t certain he would ever have enough.

All at once, Steve shouted Bucky’s name, drawing the syllables out in a cry of pure pleasure. Then the fabric beneath his hand was damp, dripping with come, and Steve was swaying, his grip weakening enough that Bucky abandoned Steve’s balls to hold him up by an arm about his waist.

Shuddering, muscles tense, Steve’s hips jerked into his hand and then he collapsed, boneless in Bucky’s hold. When he looked up, big blue eyes blinking owlishly, Bucky knew he was a goner. Leaning down, he kissed Steve again, pushing his tongue past his lips and fucking him with it as he wished he could with his cock, possessing him. Catching Steve’s jaw, he squeezed gently, making Steve open wider for him. Steve just let him, moaning, allowing Bucky to take whatever he wanted while knowing what Bucky wanted was everything.

With a groan, Bucky leaned back, running his thumb along Steve’s jawline.

“Oh, it is going to be a long, long night. The things I’m going to do to you, pet.”

“Pet?” Steve repeated, voice thick and slow.

Smiling, Bucky slid his hand under the mesh shrug and pushed it down Steve’s shoulder, his hands greedy for the feel of that silky, hot skin. His touched caused a rash of goosebumps to appear and he soothed them down slowly. 

“You don’t like it?”

“I, um,” Steve rolled his shoulders, helping Bucky slip the offending garment off his skin, “Well, it wouldn’t be an issue if I wasn’t property.”

Frowning, Bucky ran his hands down Steve’s back.

“I had hoped we’d cleared this up,” Bucky admitted as Steve steadied himself on his feet, but continued to lean against him. Not actually upset at the name, then. “Your title, slave, means nothing to me, like I hope mine means nothing to you. We are just two men here. Well,” Bucky smiled, sliding his palm over the muscles in Steve’s back, “one of us is sinfully attractive.”

Though he blushed, Steve’s hands began to make quick work of Bucky’s shirt buttons. 

“Then why would you call me a pet?” he asked.

“Because I think you are beautiful and I want to take care of you, give you everything you’ve never known you wanted, keep you safe, and happy. I want you to want for nothing.”

Flushing darker, Steve pushed Bucky’s shirt off his shoulders and tentatively laid his hands on Bucky’s chest. His gaze was heated as he looked at Bucky like he hadn’t bathed him the night before, or touched his skin. Slowly Steve ran his hands over Bucky’s pecs, down his ribs, then splayed them across his abdomen.

“You want to spoil me,” Steve whispered.

“Yes,” Bucky agreed eagerly. “Give you everything I can. Not because you need it, because you deserve it.”

Bucky’s heart rose into his throat as he waited for Steve to answer, waited until those dulcet blue eyes rose to his and he smiled. Because until that moment, Bucky didn’t know if Steve would ask from him those few things he couldn’t give. Like Steve’s freedom.

“I won’t mind if you call me it again.”

“Or spoil you?” Bucky confirmed, his heart pounding.

“Or spoil me,” Steve agreed, still smiling as he took Bucky’s hand and pushed it to the hem of his mesh pants, “or make this night last for longer than I think possible.”

Bucky wasn’t ashamed to admit he tore the pants off Steve fast enough they shredded into pieces. His dancer’s only response was to laugh, then clutch him as Bucky lifted him into the air and carried him to his bed. Laying Steve in the center, he crawled over and atop him, groaning when the slim thighs parted about the knee he pressed between them. Encouraged, Bucky bent his head to lick along Steve’s delicate collarbones, down to his sternum, then following the swell of his pectoral to the little silver discs clinging to his nipples. He tugged at them with his teeth, drawing a surprised gasp from Steve and sending a pulse of lightning to Bucky’s groin. His little dancer was sensitive.

Bracing himself on an elbow on the bed, Bucky lifted his head to kiss Steve’s slightly swollen lips, then the long bejewelled neck, trailing his lips over the well-defined, yet slim chest. Steve’s hands were in Bucky’s hair, tugging and pulling until the tie gave and it fell about his face as Bucky began mapping Steve’s chest with his lips. The metal disks framing Steve’s nipples were intriguing and, now that he was so close, he could see how they were pinching the nipples, making them stand out. He kissed the nearest nipple before fitting his mouth over it and its adornment and sucking hard. So hard, Steve gasped and arched beneath him. Bucky just sucked harder, breaking only to bite at the exposed tip gently, only to return to sucking again immediately after.

Steve was squirming under him, legs and chest moving restlessly, fingers digging into Bucky’s scalp as he whined and gasped, calling Bucky;s name, but not asking him to stop. Eventually he broke off, just because he needed to look at Steve, at his face, his pupils blown wide with pleasure. The flush was dark on his cheeks, running down his neck and chest to his nipples, the one Bucky had teased now dark and swollen under it’s round shield.

“You are so sultry, pet.” Bucky's voice was a rasp, his groin was throbbing. He wanted Steve so badly, hungered for him so strongly, he could hardly stand it. “The most alluring man I have ever known. I love your body; love how small it is, how well you fit into my arms. I can’t stop thinking about pushing into you, watching you take me in, watching this small, tight body stretch to accommodate me.” 

“You’ll be gentle?” Steve asked, melting the last resistance Bucky could have had against Steve’s will.

“We will go as slow as you need,” Bucky promised. “I’ll stretch you open on my tongue, first. Then my fingers, one at a time, finding that spot inside you that will make you wild. Once you’re loose, taking my fingers so easy, begging me for more, aching for it, I’ll give you my cock. Slide it into you slow and nice, deep, making that sweet, delicious body mine.”

Steve’s jaw dropped and he lay there, speechless, staring up at Bucky with wide, lustful eyes. Grinning, Bucky dropped lower, nipping the skin over Steve’s ribs, making his breath hitch and shudder as it left his throat. Carefully, the king teased his fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s lacy underthings, tugging them down just a few inches to expose his dancer’s hips and the tattoo that ran just above his golden curls. Bucky followed the line of his hip, licking along the dip in a long, slow stripe that drew a moan from Steve’s chest. He continued along the hem of lace, cleaning away the come that stained the stars and whorls, licking the lines of the tattoo itself until Steve was wriggling, panting, hands in Bucky’s hair tangling and tugging as he twitched reflexively. 

Just as slowly, Bucky drew the feminine clothing down Steve’s gorgeous, muscled thighs, past his knees, over his calves and tossed them aside. Then he sat back on his ankles and just _looked_. All that remained was the sparkling silver jewelry. The fine metal, he realized, had been placed to accent and highlight the toned, but slim, muscles lying beneath Steve’s skin. His biceps, his abdomen, appeared even more defined than they were. Bucky took his time, trailing his fingers over each adornment, above and below the line of silver. Steve was panting hard, now, his cock standing proud in its bed of curls.

It was then Bucky noticed the silver ring snug at the base of Steve’s cock. Not for play, or denial, but to make the already pretty length prettier. Only, that wasn’t the thought that captured Bucky’s mind, made his blood roar, and his breath stutter.

Catching Steve’s shaft in hand, he twirled the silver ring and demanded, “Did someone put this on you?” The tone was hard, angry, and Steve’s baby blues widened in surprise.

“No,” he answered, pressing his lips together, “I did it myself.”

And like that, Bucky was able to breathe again.

“No one else touches you like I do,” Bucky insisted. “I can’t… I won’t…”

Steve sat up, catching Bucky’s face in his hands and looking at him pleadingly.

“You never have to share me,” he promised.

It should have been a comfort. It wasn’t. The promise was not one he could offer in kind. The court expected an heir. Not having one at the moment wasn’t a worry; Bucky was young. In five, ten years? The lack of an heir could destabilize the nation.

Swallowing down his guilt, Bucky kissed Steve hard enough he pushed him back onto the bed. With a grunt, Steve went, then gasped as Bucky roughly parted his legs, lifting them up into the air and laying them over his shoulders. 

“Bucky,” he whimpered.

Smirking, Bucky took Steve’s cock in his hand, then pressed the index finger of the other hand to Steve’s entrance. 

“Now, pet,” Bucky purred, “I make you mine.”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve stared up at Bucky, finding it hard to breathe. His heart was pounding, blood racing, stomach tight and twisted into knots as one thought spun through his mind: Bucky was going to fuck him. Already Bucky had made him come, made his blood sing like he hadn’t known it could. Sex had always been something to be wary of, never imagined letting anybody get that close. Yet with Bucky it was so easy. It was easy to spread his legs and let Bucky between them. It was easy to hold onto him and arch as Bucky touched him everywhere, brought him pleasure more powerful than any he’d ever brought himself.

Gods, and the things Bucky promised to do to him now? Steve wanted them all. Wanted to touch Bucky’s cock, wanted to have that hard flesh inside him, wanted to take Bucky apart the way he’d done to Steve. Yet all he could do was lie there, staring up at a _king_ who wanted him the way no man ever had. Not as a possession or a conquest, but as a treasure.

Harsh metallic banging and an aborted shout yanked them both from the moment, the press of Bucky’s finger to his hole, and to the door.

“What…?” Steve started to ask, surprised by the sudden cessation of a scream, but Bucky was already off the bed, heading for a corner of the oppulente bedroom. There, a stand held a collection of swords from which Bucky choose a heavy one with a wide blade.

Bucky was opening his mouth to say something when the doors burst in, the _crack_ of the thick wood deafening in the room. Half a dozen men burst through, wielding swords and dressed head-to-toe in black armor. Letting out a shout, Steve wanted to vault off the bed and grab his cape, but froze in place. He wasn’t a fighter, he was a dancer, and the too-still bodies outside the door said they were here for death. The only hope he had was Bucky, sword swishing through the air and moving to the foot of the bed, protecting Steve and defending himself.

“If you leave now,” Bucky growled. “I will let you live.”

None of the black-clad men responded verbally. They fanned out to the sides, the six men standing in a half-circle about Bucky and the bed. Steve imagined they would have circled about him entirely, but as the second one got close to where Steve lay, Bucky attacked. He was a blur, the silver sword slashing, the red and blue of his tattooed arm flashing in the firelight. It was a relief that Steve hadn’t stripped him further, yet, leaving Bucky in cloth pants and high boots as he fought like a man possessed, dodging, parrying, slashing all about him. Everyone was yelling, so loud Steve couldn’t tell one voice from the next.

And then the first body fell.

One minute the stranger was swinging at Bucky, sword held high over head, and the next Bucky’s blade was piercing his chest. It withdrew a moment later, a sharp jerk that sent blood flying, but the man just stood there, mouth open, eyes wide, clutching at the new hole in his body. No one but he and Steve seemed to notice, Bucky and the others continuing their deadly dance without delay or even so much as a glance in the man’s direction as he sank to his knees, then toppled to the floor, eyes glassy and frozen in death.

Heart beating wildly, skin crawling with panic, Steve covered his mouth with his hands to hold back a scream. The sound would only distract Bucky and there were still five - no four - more men to deal with. Steve couldn’t recall the other one falling, but he lay there now, twitching and clutching at his throat as his blood soaked into the expensive, lush carpet, growing and growing, until the man no longer twitched but lay pale and lifeless where he had fallen.

Another scream rose up in Steve’s chest, his lungs tight like a band had been wrapped about his torso and was slowly tightening. He wasn’t a stranger to death, but he had never seen it brought so brutally before, so swiftly, and to men whom he had little doubt would do worse to him should Bucky’s skills fail. It was hard to believe he hadn’t yet, hadn’t even been struck, moving so smoothly, so fast, as he fought to keep them both alive. Steve had never seen anyone fight the way Bucky did, with such skill and power; there was no hesitation in his movements, every movement flowing one into the next, muscles bunching under his skin, so Steve would have been entranced had he not been so horrified. Blood streaked his chest, his arms, another line spray across his back as he twisted, slicing through the stomach and chest of a soldier, and continuing on without pass to slam his blade against another. The room smelled of blood and terror, making Steve nauseous. The sound rang in Steve’s ears, lingering after as he realized the parry had left Bucky’s back open.

And he wasn’t the only one who had seen.

The black-swathed stranger darted closer and Steve reacted without thinking. Reaching to the side, he caught up the first item that came to hand, a a gold encrusted heavy goblet, and threw it with all his strength. It struck the man’s shoulder with a loud thump, made him yelp and stagger, glancing Steve’s way. He was still glaring at Steve when Bucky’s sword parted muscle, bone, and sinew, sending up a shower of blood as the man’s head fell to the floor before his body collapsed.

This time Steve did scream, couldn’t hold it back. It was silly, he _knew_ it was. These men were here to kill Bucky, and without his king, he had no protection. They could do anything they pleased with Steve once they’d killed Bucky. Yet the clawing terror was making it hard to breathe, stealing Steve’s lungs. All he could do was fall back to the bed and watch as his king kept fighting.

Bucky fought like a whirlwind, but it wasn’t ending. There were more strange soldiers spilling through the door, swords raised. Even as untrained in fighting as Steve was, it was clear to see Bucky had less and less room to move. The fallen bodies obstructed his footwork, tripping him up and making him struggle to hold a grounded stance. Bucky was attempting to change tactics, adjusting his hold on his sword so that he held it with one hand. The other grabbed any random item within reach to throw them at his opponents. When they were distracted, he followed up with his sword. 

For now he was holding up his own, killing with a grim focus, his jaw set, and chest heaving. His skin was slick with blood and sweat as he heaved a small, carved wooden table towards the door to slow the influx of opponents. It helped for a second, but there were too many of them coming at Bucky.

There were just…too many.

Desperate, Steve forced his unresponsive body to move, to get to his feet and follow Bucky’s lead. From the dresser, the wall, he chucked everything he could get his hands on, including some of the jewlery about his own body. 

Then something…changed. Steve couldn’t have put his finger on the moment it happened, but he thought it was the shout. Lower and fiercer than the rest, it echoed from the hallway and almost sounded like a laugh. Moments later one of their attackers was flung head first into those fighting Bucky, crashing into their backs so that three fell forward. As Bucky darted forward, ending the lives of those who had been taken out by their fellow, a tall, golden god of a man, naked as the day he was born launched himself into the room with a yell. Thick mane of golden hair flying behind him and a heavy broadsword in his hand, he cut down assailants left and right with ease. One unfortunate soul was nearly cleaved in half by the strength and power of the new comer’s blade. He didn’t stick to just the blade, however, seeming just as happy to use his powerful arms to crush people’s heads together. Where Bucky was calculated grace and efficiency, this man was pure power, destruction surrounding him and a trail of mutilated and broken bodies in his wake. There was no sign that he was affected by his nudity, his body a machine, muscles straining beneath bronzed skin.

“James!” the newcomer roared.

Bucky jerked his head to acknowledge him even as he cut down another opponent.

“The door?” Bucky shouted, ducking beneath a sword thrust and lunging forward to pierce a man’s belly with enough force it came out the other side with an unpleasant crunch.

“Secure!” the man bellowed, clearly a friend, and beheaded one of the two remaining assailants with negligent ease, the head rolling to stop at the foot of the bed, dead eyes staring up, right at Steve.

Bucky lunged from his crouch and delivered a series of blows against the last man’s sword, striking so hard, so fast, he could no longer keep his grip on the hilt. As it fell to the ground and the man stumbled back, Bucky lunged one last time, blade puncturing his chest clean through. Calmly, Bucky pulled the sword free with a single tug, then flicked it, splattering thick ruby droplets over the soft rug now drenched in blood.

“Damn,” Bucky panted. “I should have kept one alive for interrogation.”

“No need, my brother has one in his clutches,” their ally declared. “You are well, my liege? None of these fiends breached your defenses?”

Steve couldn't help but stare at the blond warrior standing there barefoot and naked, chest heaving from exertion. He was so _big_ , bigger than Bucky, taller by almost a head. His chest was all flat planes of hard muscles, his stomach a series of sharply defined ones. In a thick patch of curls below, rested the largest cock Steve had ever seen in his life, and it was _soft_. He couldn't help it; he stared.

“Thank you, Thor,” Bucky said slapping his palm on the naked warrior’s broad shoulder. “I would have been lost without your timely assistance.”

Thor’s thighs were as thick as a log and surprisingly shapely for a man of his size. As he moved to face Bucky his cock swung freely, neither man concerned with the nudity. Well, Steve was. Concerned that is. It seemed so dangerous to just let it fly around like that. What if it hit something? Wouldn’t that hurt?

“Steve?” he distantly heard Bucky ask. 

Then again, maybe it was so large that whatever it hit would just go flying. Like the man who had hit the others, maybe Thor had hit him with his dick.

“Steve!”

Clamping his lips on a hysterical giggle, Steve looked up to find Bucky staring at him. His face seemed to be vacillating between outrage and worry and he bit his lip, not sure what to say. Could Bucky honestly expect him not to look? 

“I’m okay, sir,” Steve said, realizing as he did he was standing on Bucky’s fine pillows and dropping down to his knees.

“Ah, your consort!” Thor thundered. “He is as lovely as I have been made to believe! A fine gift on your birthday!”

There was a distant scream, then another and another. Bucky reached for his sword but Thor raised his open palm in a calming gesture.

“No need to be alarmed, it’s just my brother expressing his ill mood at being woken up in the middle of the night.”

“How do you know it’s Loki’s doing?” Bucky asked, frowning deeply.

Thors lips twisted.

“The screams are far too terrified to be anything else.”

“Fair,” Bucky said, nodding and agreeing far too easily for Steve’s comfort. Loki Odinson was the one who kept meddling with his clothes.

“We must rally the palace guard,” Bucky said, striding to the bed and taking Steve’s hand. Bucky pulled him from the bed, holding so tight to his hand it ached. “Remove these assassins from the palace, see if they had any other targets, and ensure we are secure.”

From the shadows outside the door, a shape detached and Lord Loki Odinson silently appeared, dressed in pristine white bedclothes. Unlike either of the warriors his clothes were free of any blood and his face pale, no flush in sight. The only sign he must have taken part in the fighting was the small, thin dagger held loosely in his hand, dripping blood, and the only part of him stained.

“Well, that was useless,” the man muttered as his sharp, green eyes took in the room. “The one I captured knew nothing of use. Just a mercenary, no idea who hired him.”

“Loki!” Thor turned around, his face lighting up with a wide smile that took up his entire face. “You are safe!”

Remembering how aloof the man was the times he had spoken with Steve, he expected some kind of sharp or dismissive response. There was nothing. Thor went to Loki, arms outstretched for an embrace and Steve winced internally, thinking that hugging Loki Odinson while he was armed was a clear way to die. Thor didn’t seemed to care in the least, wrapping his thick arms around Loki without a shift in his happy grin. Loki, on the other hand, did nothing to stop Thor, but made a face like he was being tortured. All Loki did was move his arm, the one he held the dagger, away from Thor’s body to ensure he wasn’t hurt. 

“Put me down,” Loki hissed after several seconds, squirming as Thor laughed and set him back on his feet.

Heavy booted footfalls thundered down the hall and all three men turned toward the doors, Bucky pushing Steve behind him. Peeking around his king, Steve saw a short man with dark hair, a dark goatee, and dressed in an open red robe rush through the doors. He froze, Loki’s dagger tip beneath his throat and squeaked. Vaguely, Steve recognized him as the other man standing at Bucky’s side at his birthday.

“Good to see you’re well, sire,” he said, holding his own knives loosely in each hand.

Loki pressed the tip of the dagger a little deeper into the new arrival’s throat before huffing and stepping back with a strange kind of harrumpy sound.

“Late to the party, Stark,” he said coolly. 

“We should take you to the treasury, my liege,” Thor said, turning away from Stark and Loki. “It is as secure as possible. My officers are already securing the palace as you so suggested.”

“Thor thought it best he took your protection into his own hands,” Loki said shortly.

Bucky frowned.

“How did you know they were here?”

“We were attacked,” Loki said flatly.

“As was I,” Stark admitted. “As would make sense, James. If this is a coup, they would want to ensure your support is cut away as well. No support for your sisters’ claims to the throne.”

“Obviously,” Loki drawled. 

“I’m sorry, I was distracted by your brother’s monster cock. If he’d put it away, we could all think faster.”

Letting out a booming laugh, Thor clapped Stark on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Lord Stark!”

“You’re welcome, but I’m serious. Everyone is staring.”

“Everyone is dead,” Loki said dryly.

“Well, they’re still staring. That thing transcends the mortal coil.”

“You have a lot to say about _my_ brother’s cock,” Loki said testily, flicking his dagger between his fingers twice before it vanished in a stunning show of sleight-of-hand. 

“I’m sure if you weren’t brothers, you’d have a lot to say about it, too.” Stark said flippantly before motioning to Bucky. “Your majesty, if you please…?”

The lord gestured to the door and Bucky tightened his hand on Steve’s. Bucky grabbed a discarded shawl from the floor and wrapped it around his hips in efficient movements to create a temporary scabbard for the blade he tucked between its folds. Then he caught up Steve’s hand once more. As Bucky pulled him forward, he had the uncomfortable moment of resisting, not wanting to step into the blood pooling on the floor and not wanting to argue with a _king_ in front of his subjects. Bucky didn’t seem to notice, so focused on their assailants, but Thor did.

“I believe your consort would like some foot coverings, my liege. He is far too delicate and lovely for the kind of work we have engaged in this night.”

Looking down at Steve, Bucky’s gaze swept him from top to toe, and would have made Steve blush in any other circumstance.

“You are in need of clothes,” Bucky murmured, sliding his hand onto Steve’s back and bending down. Before Steve could so much as exhale, he slid his other arm beneath Steve’s legs and hoisted Steve into the air, making him flail to catch hold of Bucky’s shoulders. Wrapping his arms about his neck, he held on, meeting his king’s gaze for a moment, wondering why he looked more worried and praying they were going to be safe. Praying his friends would be safe. If they’d been hurt while Steve was being protected by royalty, he never would have forgiven himself.

“Here.” It was the newest arrival, Lord Stark, striding to the armoire and yanking open the doors. From the King’s own wardrobe, he pulled free a cape and returned, spreading it over Steve from his legs to his shoulders. He clutched at the offering of modesty, holding it tight and settling it as over him as much as he could in the odd position.

With Thor in the lead, the four men strode down the hall. Bodies were scattered here and there, but not as concentrated as in Bucky’s bedchamber. Unfortunately, not all were the bodies of the mercenaries. Some wore Bucky’s colors, and a few were dressed in clothes too expensive to have been soldiers at all. 

They turned down a hall, then another, and then they were being surrounded by guards. Steve panicked for a moment, until he realized they wore Bucky’s colors. All spoke at once, loud, shouting over each other asking if their king was okay. Many were holding arms, sides. A few had makeshift bandages over their faces, or slings and splints made from torn-up cloaks. Thor wrangled them, his voice covering the rest when he shouted, ordering squads and men here and there before turning to Bucky and Loki.

“Your majesty, I entrust your safety to my brother as they are the next most capable hands than yours, or my own. We will retake the palace if it has been taken, or protect it if it has not.” The golden god of a man bowed, his cock waving, and then he strode off, leading the contingent of guards with him.

“Do you think he realizes he’s not wearing anything?” Stark asked and Steve couldn’t stop his giggle.

Bucky gave him another worried glance and began walking faster, towards stairs leading down into the castle depths.

“I imagine he thinks it’s terrifying or something,” Bucky grumbled.

“Not the word I’d use,” Stark chirped.

“Stop staring at my brother’s dick,” Loki snapped.

Steve had known these men for less than five minutes, but even he could see the double-take and subsequent dropped jaw was unusual for Stark who had thus far had had a comeback for everything. When he finally snapped his mouth shut, all he said was, “Yes, sir, your testiness.”

Loki didn’t offer a smirk or cutting answer Steve was expecting, but simply growled under his breath, probably something uncomplimentary that Steve didn’t catch.

“Enough,” Bucky snapped. “We’re almost there.”

And farther from the rest of the troupe, Steve thought. Trapped in their barracks, at the mercy of whomever stumbled in. Oh, Clint and Sam would do their best to keep the women safe, and they weren’t slouches when it came to protecting themselves either. But they were unarmed, with nothing close at hand since any weapon would be assumed to be used against their master, not for their own self-defense.

Closing his eyes, Steve pressed his face to Bucky’s neck and prayed.


	7. Chapter 7

As they rushed through the halls to the treasury in the lower reaches of the palace, Bucky’s body was still running on its fight or flight response, muscles tense and breathing quick. The visceral awareness that he was fighting for his life was still with him, that terror sour in the back of his throat from the knowledge that if he strayed too far from the bed the assailants could kill Steve, use him as leverage, or leave him as collateral damage. Thor’s intervention had saved them both, but the battle wasn’t over. He wanted to be a part of it, to help his people, but that was not the job of a King. For the nation, he had to be kept safe, not even ensuring his sisters were well and hoping their guards had not fallen as easily as his own.

Worst, he was still hard, Steve naked, and he could picture the looks his consort and most trusted general had exchanged. 

Tony pushed open the doors to the treasury, ushering Bucky and Steve inside. Loki rushed past, slipping into the room in front of them and in moments the first lamp was lit up, then the next and the next, slowly lightening the room until it was bathed in golden light of multiple oil lamps. The boomed shut behind them, heavy steel, openable only by those who knew the proper combination. This was where they stored the crown jewels, the crown’s wealth, and anything else that needed sufficient protection.

Walking past the tables and chests that held uncountable riches, he stopped at one and set Steve on his feet. He was saw his consort tug the cloak into place, practically drowning in the fabric, as he emptied the chest of its contents. Furs, softer than any cloth, tumbled to the floor. Tony caught on instantly, striding to a pile of rolled up rugs and poking around until he found a thick bear skin. This he unrolled onto the floor and Bucky piled the furs atop it. Then he swept Steve into his arms again and laid him on the pile.

Gasping, his dancer held tightly to him until Bucky pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then he flushed, pressed a swift kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and let him go.

“Loki, Tony,” Bucky said quietly, standing and turning to his advisors and friends. “I need you to make sure my sisters are all right. Their security is not as tight as mine and…”

“I understand,” Tony interrupted. “We’ll make sure they are safe and move them from the palace immediately.”

“We will treat their lives as our own,” Loki assured.

Both men bowed and turned to the door, leaving it open and slipping out again. The vault was utterly silent in their wake. For the first time that evening, Bucky floundered. He was so useless, to his family, his friends, his nation. All he could do was hole up under the palace and wait, not knowing what was happening above, not being able to help. His hands itched to take up his blade, but instead he untied it from the makeshift scabbard. Holding it in his hands, he stared at the blood drying on the surface, remembered the fear, the death, Steve’s scream, and wondered if his sisters had screamed for him. If they lived.

Shouting, he threw the sword across the room.

Small hands wrapped about his wrist, tugging, pulling, leading him to the bed of furs. Steve pressed him onto his back, hovering over him, looking frightened and worried. Bucky hated that look on his dancer’s face.

“I’m okay, pet,” Bucky assured. “Just… feeling impotent.”

Pressing his lips together, Steve glanced about the room, and then held his gaze.

“Let me dance for you,” he offered in a rush. “Distract you from what’s happening.”

The thought was touching, sweet and so very Steve, but all Bucky could think was Thor commenting on how his ‘lovely’ dancer was not made for the death they had wrote that night. Thor seeing him naked. Looking at Steve naked and Steve looking back.

“If you think I can stand it that anyone else got to see you naked, you better think again.”

“What?” Steve blinked, eyes widening at the abrupt segue. Bucky growled, then rolled them over, grabbing Steve’s arms and pinning them above his head. Though he was still startled and alarmed, Steve just stared at him, didn’t fight or protest. Not even when Bucky held both wrists with one hand and yanked roughly at the cloak with the other, stripping it away so Steve was naked for him again.

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve gasped.

“I gave you pleasure, pet,” Bucky growled. “I watched you shatter under my hands, but was denied the opportunity to experience it myself.” He shifted above Steve, pressing his knee between Steve’s legs, making them part. “I want it. Now.”

The blue of Steve’s gaze was abruptly swallowed by his pupils and he spread his legs further, for more than just his leg. Offering, Bucky realized, giving him what he was demanding. Groaning, Bucky swept his gaze down Steve’s body. One of the shields had fallen from his nipples, most of the adornments were gone entirely, but Bucky didn’t care. He was so damned beautiful and he was all Bucky’s.

“Take it,” Steve whispered.

“I want to open you up with my fingers,” Bucky said, voice growing raspy. He could feel Steve shivering under his hands, from the cold or anticipation, he didn’t know. “I want to press my cock inside you, want to watch you take it, make you moan and beg for me.”

Steve licked his lips, the pale pink of his lips becoming shiny and his eyes becoming even darker.

“I don’t get to touch you?” Steve whispered, arching under him.

“No, not yet,” Bucky whispered.

Finding a better position between Steve’s invitingly spread legs, Bucky ran his free hand down that slim, muscled chest, heaving stomach, to the pink, vulnerable cock, half-hard despite how ungentle Bucky had been. Encouraged, he squeezed and watched Steve shudder and gasp, filling out in his hand, until the tender flesh was firm. Beneath his hands, Steve flexed, testing the strength of Bucky’s grip. Tightening his hold, he felt another shudder run through Steve’s entire body and felt his mouth go dry.

“Stay put,” he growled and watched Steve’s lips part, his breathing speed up.

“Yes,” he whispered and Bucky was up like a shot. It took him a moment to locate the oils, mostly gifts from foreign visitors made with this or that exotic herb, and he hurried back to his dancer while pulling the cork out with his teeth. Steve hadn’t moved, legs spread invitingly, hands above his head, nipples and cock hard, spread out on the furs and waiting for him. As Bucky knelt between his legs and spilled some oil onto his fingers, he realized his hands were shaking from eagerness. 

“The things you do to me, pet,“ Bucky groaned, reaching between Steve’s legs to fit his fingers against that tightly furled ring of muscle and rub the oil around and into it.. “New it the moment I laid eyes on you that I wanted you, that you were meant for me. Been so damn hard keeping my hands off you, but you’re worth it. You’re so damn worth it.

“Then stop stalling,” Steve commanded, knees pressing against Bucky’s sides. “Do it.”

Bucky hesitated. He wanted to make this perfect. He wanted to be so gentle with Steve. His dancer deserved the sun and moon and stars, he deserved the perfect first time. Bucky wanted him now, to push in and feel his teat and tight, virgin body about his aching cock. Then Steve would be his, no matter what, he would be the first to know the pleasures of Steve’s perfectly round ass. 

“Bucky,” Steve hissed and kicked at him, digging his heels into Bucky’s thighs. “Do it.”

“Fuck,” Bucky swore. He pushed in, felt the tiny passage stretch about the intrusion, felt Steve’s muscles flutter and clench and try and push him out. “Push down,” he instructed, voice hoarse, and sucked in a breath as Steve obeyed, a look of pure concentration on his face. As if this was a dance move he was determined to learn. It made Bucky want him more and he pushed in until his finger was buried deep within Steve, knuckles to either side of his twitching hole. They were both breathing hard, Bucky with want, Steve from sensation, his lips parted, sweat beading on his skin already.

“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“A little,” Steve admitted, then shouted, “No!” as Bucky began to withdraw as guilt twisted his stomach. “No, it’s fine. I want,” his dancer blushed, skin flushing prettily pink, “I want this. You.”

Shivering, Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s thigh. 

“You’ll have me,” Bucky promised. “Just relax. It’s easier if you relax.”

Steve laughed, a bit high pitched.

“I’m trying. It’s… it feels weird and… big… and you’re… God, Bucky, you’re huge.”

The laugh that pulled from Bucky was unexpected, but he could see Steve wasn’t relaxing. His thighs trembled, cock having softened and, though he still had his hands above his head, it wasn’t what Bucky wanted. He wanted Steve to enjoy this. 

Dipping his head, he took the entire soft length into his mouth, feeling the taste and the weight of it, and sucked. Steve cried out, shouting, body bucking against the soft furs so he had to use the hand that wasn’t buried inside Steve and catch him about the throat, pushing him down once more. The loud moan that drew from Steve made Bucky’s eyes widen, but he didn’t question, tightening his hold around that strong, slim column of flesh, feeling Steve’s pulse thunder under his palm and pushing Steve down, swallowing about his cock and sucking. The sweet, warm shaft grew on his tongue, throbbing in time with Steve’s heartbeat, and his own. His dancer arched beneath him, hard once more, and the muscles squeezing his finger abruptly relaxed. 

“Bucky,” Steve gasped, “Oh, god, Bucky.”

Grinning, Bucky began slowly withdrawing his finger while sucking all the harder and bobbing, albeit slowly, on Steve’s delectable cock. Pre-come dripped from the tip, coating his tongue and making his jaw tingle at the taste. It wasn’t as bitter as Bucky was used to, almost zesty, the flavor uniquely Steve. 

Another moan fell from Steve’s parted lips and Bucky began to twist the digit still buried within his dancer’s body. Whining, Steve’s hands reached out, gripping bucky’s wrist and tangling in his hair. Humming his approval, Bucky made Steve spasm again, writhing beneath him as he sucked and licked and worked his finger back out. With the pleasure he was giving, Steve was far too distracted to think about the invasion, opening easily for Bucky now and yet not fast enough for the ache in his groin.

Impatient, Bucky pulled his finger out, grabbed the bottle, and spilled the contents onto Steve’s shivering stomach as his mouth tormented just the tip of his cock. Vicious suction made Steve thrash, Bucky’s tongue laving at the slit only adding to the over stimulation. All that kept Steve still was the hand Bucky had about his throat, which he tightened, only for Steve to cry out. Moaning in kind, Bucky swiped two fingers through the mess on Steve’s stomach and pushed both against his hole. They slipped inside without much resistance, though Steve did shout and struggle again, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, so blown they looked black, just a tiny ring of cornflower blue remaining about the edges. Mouth open, his small chest was heaving for breath, a delicious flush making his skin glow from within, overwhelmed with the sensation and pleasure and Bucky didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so alluring.

This time he scissored the fingers, working them in and out to stretch Steve further as he worked his cock. Now and then he’d squeeze his dancer’s throat, fingertips resting just beneath his jeweled collar, palm over his windpipe. Every time Steve would rasp out a gasp, tremble, and fall limp. Only the hand on Bucky’s wrist held tight, shaking, tears beading in his eyes. If it hadn’t been so very clear Steve was loving every second of it, Bucky might have thought he was still in pain, or frightened, but the throbbing cock in his mouth, the delicious sounds dripping from Steve’s lips, told another tale. When he began pushing down onto Bucky’s fingers, fucking himself on them, Bucky nearly lost his mind. He was burning, his body just a line of fire and want and he wanted. Wanted and had to have Steve, completely.

Bucky wasn’t thinking when he pulled his fingers out and grabbed Steve by the hip. He let that exquisite, dripping cock fall from his lips as he flipped Steve over as if he weighed nothing. He was only dimly aware of Steve’s gasp, the way his dancer writhed under his hands, his eyes focussed only on those beautiful, tight cheeks and the tiny hole peeking between them. At the same time he reached up, wrapping his hand about Steve’s throat again, Bucky shoved his fingers back inside Steve, deep, both sinking to the last knuckle as Steve cried out and sobbed, trapped between his hands. Bucky leaned over him, nipping at his ear, and felt Steve shiver as he slowly circled the digits within him, teasing, letting him adjust for a moment. He loved the way it felt to just sink his fingers into that heated flesh, feel the silkiness of his walls under the pads of his fingers and the tension rising, then breaking in the dancer's body. He wanted, needed to put his cock in there, needed to stretch Steve about him, make him whimper and beg and just feel him as he was intimately possessed.

“You should see how well you take my fingers, pet,” Bucky purred. “Sucking them into that tiny, perfect ass. It’s like you’re made for it and you love it, don’t you? Don’t you?” Steve whimpered, but nodded and Bucky groaned. “Yeah, yeah I know. I can feel it, the way you’re pushing back, taking me in. You want me to fuck you, want my cock and can’t wait for it, fucking yourself on my fingers.” He began moving them again, pulling slowly out only to shove them hard inside once more. When Steve shouted, Bucky bit down on his shoulder and moaned. “God, you’re fucking incredible. I need to be inside you so goddamn bad.”

“Do it,” Steve’s voice was breathy, trembling as bad as his body. “Do it, take me, make me yours, let me feel you. Please.”

“You need another finger,” Bucky argued, though his tone wasn’t convincing even to him. Pulling his fingers out, he scissored them again, squeezing Steve’s throat as he did and felt his dancer collapse onto the furs on his front. “Jesus, Steve.”

“Fuck me,” Steve half growled, half sobbed. “Do it, Bucky.”

With a stifled yell, Bucky ripped his pants open, freeing his cock. At the same time, he yanked his fingers free and reached beneath Steve. The puddle of oil had ruined the fur Steve was lying on, but was easy to find and smear over his hand. Gripping his cock, he coated it in turn and then pushed his way between Steve’s legs. He took hold of those slim hips and raised Steve’s ass even higher, making the dancer gasp and then give a single, strangled shout as Bucky thrust forward, pushing his cockhead against the slicked, puckered ring of muscle. The oil and the pressure made the resistance give easily and he was sinking in deep, deeper than he thought possible as he watched the entrance of Steve’s body stretch about the girth of his cock. A roaring, rushing filled his ears, drowning out Steve’s gasped shout, leaving only the arch of his back, the clench of his fists in the fur, and the way he pressed his face into the soft surface to speak for what he felt as inch after inch, Bucky sank into the impossibly tight tunnel until he was buried to the hilt, so close his hips were pressed tightly to Steve’s ass.

One by one, Bucky loosened the fingers on Steve’s hips and ran his palms over his dancer’s hips, his back, sides, to his shoulders. Beneath his hands, Steve quivered, eyes shut tight, adjusting to Bucky’s size and girth and there was nothing Bucky could do to help him but wait. As hard as that was, it was what Steve needed.

“You’re so goddamn perfect,” Bucky whispered, easing himself down so he was practically laying atop Steve. His dancer was so small, the top of his head barely reached Bucky’s shoulders and he had to arch to nuzzle into his soft, blond hair. “Can’t control myself. Have to have you, make you mine, make you feel like you never have so you remember, no matter who is looking at you, or who you’re looking at, that you belong in my bed.”

“Bucky,” Steve whimpered.

“Gonna drive you wild,” Bucky promised, feeling something tight and terrifying rise in his chest. “Gonna make you come just like this, not touching your cock, just fucking you. No one’s ever gonna make you feel like I do, pet. Not no one.”

“Bucky,” Steve gasped.

Before he could say more, Bucky circled his hips and drove the breath from Steve’s body. Then he began withdrawing, as slow as he’d sunk in, and watched Steve’s hands clench in the furs again. “Bucky,” he whispered when just the head remained buried inside him, the glans pulling at his hole but not quite slipping out. Bucky obeyed the unspoken plea, sinking back in, filling Steve once more, stretching his tiny ass about his cock. When he bottomed out, he didn’t wait as long this time, running his hand down and up Steve’s spine before wrapping it about Steve’s throat once more. He could feel how hard Steve’s pulse was beating under the pale skin and how fast he was breathing.

“Gonna fuck you exactly like this.” Bucky was rapidly losing track of what he was saying, his senses too overwhelmed with the mind-breaking pleasure of the tight body clenching down on him, fluttering around him. It felt so good, so goddamn good he barely knew what to do with himself.

“Please,” Steve sobbed. “Please, give it to me. Feels so good.”

The plea erased the last of Bucky’s control. Pulling out, he slammed back in, pushing the air from Steve’s lungs with the power and force. He didn’t wait before pulling out this time, didn’t go slow, hips pistoning out and back in, stretching Steve about him, making him shout and thrash. Growling, Bucky tightened the hand he had on Steve’s throat, then let go. He grabbed each of Steve’s arms, roughly dragging them above his head and placing them beneath the arm he was using the hold himself up. 

“Oh god,” Steve moaned, then cried out as Bucky’s hand once more gripped his throat. “Bucky, I-”

Bucky tightened his hold, cutting Steve off, and his dancer’s entire body tightened about his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groaned. “You’re so tight, Christ.”

When he loosened his hold, Steve sucked in a rasping breath and sobbed, “Oh, god, Bucky, yes, please yes, more, harder,” over and over. A litany, a chant, silenced only when Bucky tightened again. Every time Steve clenched down and the third time he bucked, thrusting back onto the cock impaling him, fucking himself, driven as wild as Bucky himself. 

With Steve now thrusting back onto him, clenching down even harder, Bucky found himself short of breath. It burned in his lungs every time he pushed into Steve’s heat, every time he drew breath to moan as pleasure rushed through him and built like water behind a dam, waiting to burst free. Steve’s cries were only growing more fervent, louder, echoing in the vault until Steve’s pleasure was all Bucky could hear. It encouraged him to thrust faster, pound Steve harder, until he squeezed his dancer’s throat and Steve clenched down so hard it was painful. He shuddered, silent, thrashing again in Bucky’s hold as he came, completing the destruction of the fur Bucky had pinned him to.

“Yes, pet, yes,” Bucky moaned, thrusting faster, seeking his own pleasure in Steve’s body now. His dancer only whined, eyes tightly closed, still as Bucky fucked him, enjoyed his fluttering, clenching muscles and tight, inescapable heat, the slickness of his entrance. At last the dam burst, his climax crashing through him, leaving him hot and dizzy as his cock spurted inside Steve, marking him at last, claiming him in a way no one else ever would be able to. He fucked Steve for as long as he could, throughout his orgasm, Steve’s broken cries prolonging his pleasure. After his cock started softening, he continued, tried to fuck into Steve, making him gasp, reveling in the wet, obscene sounds his loosened entrance was making until it slipped out completely.

Carefully, aware of how tight he’d been holding, Bucky released Steve’s wrists and unwound his fingers from his throat. Steve whimpered, lips parting, eyes still closed. Chuckling softly, Bucky lifted him up enough to yank away the ruined fur and rolled Steve onto his side. Utterly limp in his hands, Steve was easy to man handle into place, curling up so Bucky could fit in behind him, so much bigger he practically surrounded him as he yanked another fur over them both. Only as he settled in, kissing Steve’s neck, did he hear the soft snuffling snore and realize his consort had fallen asleep.

Something warm and full spread through Bucky’s chest and he laughed quietly and placed another gentle kiss on the back of Steve’s neck. He found he was smiling, gently trailing his hands up and down Steve’s side, his thigh, occasionally drifting to tease the unadorned nipple. In his sleep, Steve just sighed, leaning into his touch, helpless and vulnerable. He thought about the people that usually kept him company in bed and found that he wouldn’t want them in it any longer. It didn’t matter how skilled they were, what they could do to him. He didn’t want anyone else but Steve here, sleeping in his arms so trustingly.

Bucky paused with his hand halfway up Steve’s side when the content of his thoughts became clear to him. He was often charmed by his bedfellows, but never to the extent of wanting exclusivity. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if anybody touched Steve, but what shocked him was that he couldn’t stand being touched by another person either. He wanted to give himself to Steve and to no one else, the way Steve had promised him he wouldn’t have to share.

Bucky was in love.

In love with a commoner, a slave, and a man who had not expressed any feelings towards Bucky other than desire. The safe thing would be to send him away, but that would insult Rumlow as much as freeing him. Avoiding Steve wasn’t an option, Bucky wanted him too much, the temptation to have him every way, every morning, every evening, would be too strong. There was nothing he could do. As helpless as Steve had been in his arms, Bucky was with his heart in his dancer’s hands. Despite that, despite his fears, it didn’t take long for him to fall into deep sleep, curled protectively around his smaller lover.

It was Steve’s groan that alerted Bucky to his awakening and he looked over to find him stretching, lips pursed in a pout, staring down at his wrists. His bruised wrists. The purple and blue outlines of Bucky’s fingers stood out sharply on his pale skin and Bucky felt his stomach twist with guilt. He hadn’t realized he was being that rough the night before.

“Steve,” Bucky swallowed hard, “I’m so sorry.” His dancer looked up, eyeing him suspiciously and showing a third, dark bruise about his throat, barely covered by his collar. “Oh, pet,” Bucky practically whined, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was… I was so worked up - the battle - and I got jealous and you’re so… No, it’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have done that to you. I’m so sorry.”

Both Steve’s eyebrows drew together and he looked so disappointed it made Bucky’s heart squeeze. Another reminder of how gone he was on his dancer. A look, that was all it took, to make Bucky want to surrender and give everything in his kingdom to this man.

“I’ll have to dress appropriately to hide it,” Steve said slowly. “People will get the wrong idea and the rumors won’t be favorable for you.”

The words drew Bucky up short, sent his mind scattering so when Steve took his hand, drew him back to the pile of furs, and pushed him onto his back, he went without protest. 

“You and I,” Steve said, voice languid and yet confused, “remember last night differently. You think you, what, forced me?”

“I hurt you,” Bucky whispered.

“Ah,” Steve murmured, “I am sore. My ass, especially. It’s… exquisite.”

“What?” Bucky blurted, his tongue tying itself in knots at the look Steve was giving him now, like he was the one who was prey. 

Leaning over him, Steve pressed a slow kiss to his lips and then sat up, swinging his leg over Bucky so he was straddling his waist, Bucky’s cock nestled just behind his ass. Immediately he started getting hard, grabbing Steve’s hips and swallowing.

“When did you become so… confident?” Bucky demanded, feeling he was completely out of control here and not sure he minded that much.

“When you showed me just how much I mean to you,” Steve said casually and Bucky’s eyes widened, a lump forming in his throat as he remembered figuring that out himself last night. Love. “You’re afraid you’ll lose me,” Steve went on. “You not only think you can, that I can tell you no, it scares you I might. That my feelings aren’t as strong as yours, that it’s just the lust talking.”

Bucky swallowed, and squeaked out, “Is it?” because Steve reached behind him and squeezed his cock with his long, strong fingers as he spoke.

“No,” Steve declared, stroking Bucky as he reached for the jar of oil and emptied some on his other hand. He switched his hold to that one, stroking Bucky, slicking him up and… he couldn’t mean to do what Bucky thought, could he? 

“Wait, pet,” Bucky tried to argue, “you need time to heal. Don’t -”

Mouth hanging open, Bucky stopped breathing as Steve rose onto his knees, pulled Bucky’s cock between his legs, and then lowered himself atop it. Biting his lip, he sank down slowly until Bucky was once more buried within him, completely surrounded. It was as hot and tight as Bucky remembered, maybe hotter, though Steve didn’t move at first. Just sat there, running his hands over Bucky’s chest.

“I’ve studied people,” Steve said breathlessly, “the way they move, the way they walk, talk and fight. You need those little touches in a dance to give it emotion, to make it angry, or sad, or,” he rolled his hips, pulling off a few inches and sinking back down, “sensual.” He moaned. “You were scared last night. Scared and angry and jealous and I thought to myself: No man gets like that over a slave. Over a lover, though…”

Steve leaned forward, Bucky’s cock slipping from him slowly until just the tip remained inside and Steve hovered over Bucky’s lips, barely touching, their breaths mingling in the cold of the vault.

“Are you mine, Bucky?” Steve asked in a whisper, eyelashes fluttering as he looked from Bucky’s lips to his eyes.

“Yes,” Bucky whispered, unable to lie to this man who had wrapped him so easily about his finger and knew it.

Sweet and chaste, Steve brushed their lips together and sat back, sinking onto Bucky once more and sending pleasure racing through his body.

“I will never take advantage of that,” Steve promised once he was settled, his voice rough and uneven. “Do you know why?”

“No,” Bucky said with a shake of his head, his fingers flexing on Steve’s hips.

Steve smiled at him, tender and fond, even as his breathing was starting to grow ragged.

“Because I’m yours.”


	8. Chapter 8

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a workout of the kind he’d gotten with Bucky. Every muscle hurt, from his back, to his legs, to his shoulders, but especially his ass. In a good way, though, the kind of reminder that made him bite his lip as he remembered what they’d done, twice, while trapped in this vault. He blushed and shivered a little at the memory of how, when they were done, Bucky rolled him over and put his tongue where his cock used to be, to soothe the sting, as he called it. It felt incredible to have that wet, soft muscle push in and lick all around, soothing and inflaming him at the same time. It had been a welcome escape from the unknown battle outside, a distraction Steve had doubled down on when they’d woken. It had been a long, long time since he was this happy.

“Are you done yet?”

“No,” Steve answered with a laugh, “so keep your eyes shut.”

The nerves had creeped in after they’d made love and Steve had taken it on himself to distract them yet again. Besides, he’d needed clothes, so he’d been rummaging around the vault, making garments out of everything he could find. The smile on Bucky’s face stole Steve’s breath away every time he was allowed to look. Like there was nothing in this world he would rather be doing than watching Steve act a fool in old, golden armor and a peacock’s plume cape.

Tying the last knot into place, Steve turned around and smiled at his King, hand over his eyes to prove he hadn’t been looking. He had found a chest of scarfs, decorated with gold and gems, and tied them about himself as clothing. Two - one white with gold lining and studded with diamonds, the other royal blue with gold and sapphires - forming a short, thigh length skirt, and one made of solid gold chains draped over his shoulders and chest. It was ridiculous, but that was the point. 

“Okay,” he said and Bucky peeked between his fingers, a crooked smile on his lips. It faded in a heartbeat as he slowly lowered his hand, eyes grown dark with renewed lust that quickened Steve’s blood. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to get over here now,” Bucky purred and Steve felt his face heat. 

Taking a step forward, he heard the door open and froze. Eyes going wide right along with Bucky’s, he had no time to do more than run for the cape on the floor, yanking it about himself even as he sank to his knees on the furs and Bucky rose. The easy smile was gone now, vanished as if it had never been. The sword, thrown the night before, but retrieved since, was in his hand once more. Both held their breath, waiting until finally three men strode into sight. 

Steve would recognize General Rumlow anywhere and felt his heart plummet to his knees at the mere sight of him. As if sensing this, Bucky’s hand laid gently over his hair, petting him, and if Steve hadn’t been so upset, he would have hated the implication that he really was an animal. As it was, it was a comfort, a reminder that he was protected by a king. 

Calmed, Steve could look at the other two men. Lord Stark he recognized as well, but it took him a moment to realize the tall, blonde in thick, plated armor was Thor Odinson. The same Thor with the giant dick that had knocked three men down in one swing. Steve had to look down, or he was going to laugh.

“Report,” Bucky ordered, his voice more distant and removed than it had been all morning. It warmed Steve, let him sit up straight and proud, to realize he had had Bucky and these men only got King James.

The three men straightened from bows they had adopted when Steve looked down and Lord Stark stepped forward.

“Your sister’s have been taken to the winter palace in the mountains. A company of Royal Guards escort them. None were harmed, having been awoken by the commotion in the palace and barricaded their doors before anyone could get to them. Lord Odinson,” Stark motioned to Thor, “arrived before their assailants could break down the door.”

The tension that evaporated from Bucky’s shoulders was palpable.

“Thank you, Thor,” Bucky said, then paused, lips pressed together. “I owe you a great debt.”

“It was my honor, sire,” Thor answered, bowing once more. “The fiends had naught by evil upon their minds. The dwell in Hades now.”

Bucky took a breath, standing up even straighter.

“Have we learned how they got in?”

“Yes, my lord,” Thor answered. “The assailants entered as petitioners and merchants, gathering in the palace and the town for days. They trickled in in twos or threes, laid low, waiting for their comrades to arrive.” Thor spoke slower than the others, but with a deep, thoughtful tone that suggested competence to Steve. He was sure of his words, what had happened, and didn’t need to be anything but direct. “The date of the attack was previously agreed upon, though the groups had not known each other beforehand, but were given code words to know who was on their side. Most disturbing, they had a disturbingly thorough knowledge of the palace’s layout. Most of the attacks were synchronized, starting with the one on your life, my lord, and those on your highest officials. The kitchens, servants quarters, or storage areas were not attacked by mistake. They knew where they were going.”

“Meaning I have a traitor here at court,” Bucky said, voice hard and unwavering. 

“Yes, sire,” Lord Stark said and Bucky’s gaze cut to him sharply, “I believe all would have been lost, had not Lord Odinson visited the palace the very evening of the attack. He and his men bolstered our losses.”

“Which total?” Bucky demanded.

“A third of the palace guard, lost. Half the Royal Guards, a half dozen of General Rumlow’s personal guard, and the Lord Alexander Pierce as well.”

The leather on the sword handle created as Bucky squeezed it. Still at his feet, Steve slipped his hand around his king’s ankle and let out a breath through his nose when Bucky shifted toward him and loosened his grip. There was little Steve could offer Bucky, but this? Calm, quiet support? That he could do.

“I am sorry for your loss, General,” Bucky said to the dark haired soldier and Steve looked away as he bowed, unable to look at him at all, “and it seems my debt is far greater than personal, Thor. I will wish to speak to you later, in private.”

“That is not necessar-” Thor began, but Rumlow’s sickening voice interrupted.

“I hate to interrupt, but I believe it is of utmost urgency we find this traitor and ensure they can cause no further harm.”

“I agree,” Bucky said shortly. “Do you have a proposal, General?”

“I would hate to point fingers,” Rumlow said hesitantly. 

“But you want to,” Lord Stark said with a sigh. “Who is it you think is behind this, General? There are few options. There is no clear line of succession,” Tony said. “None of His Majesty’s sisters have born children and his father only ever had the one son. Who could possibly stand to gain from this atrocity?”

If Steve hadn’t been looking away from Rumlow and up at Bucky, he would have completely missed the way his eyes darted to Stark again.

“Speak plainly, General,” Bucky commanded, his voice doing inappropriate things to Steve’s body under it’s flimsy coverings, “and speak now or not at all. We have no time to dawdle and you seem to have seen fit to interrupt already.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Rumlow said quickly. As Lord Stark said, there is no single opponent who could stand to gain from your demise. To compound matters, to take over a country one needs not only a strong and loyal army that wouldn’t hesitate to betray your majesty, but also money. Hiring mercenaries like this? It costs a small fortune. What is more, in case they succeeded in killing you, the chaos the country would slide into would cause problems gathering taxes, potential neighbor disputes. Only an outstandingly powerful lord, with his own army and his own substantial reserves of gold, could actually stand to profit.” Rumlow looked pointedly at Thor. “If they had also access to the inner workings of the ruling body, they could have their job all the easier.”

“Are you suggesting I am a traitor?” Thor boomed, turning toward the General and Steve forced himself to look in case the son of a bitch was punched.

“Of course not,” Rumlow said, holding up a placating hand toward Thor. “You have clearly prove yourself to be the hero of the hour. Your younger brother, however…” Rumlow smiled and it was so normal, so friendly, Steve wanted to be the one to punch him. This was the bastard that had taken them, sold them, knowing they would likely all be raped, or die fighting. “Surely it is merely a coincidence Loki has access to both the financial resources, the troops, and the knowledge needed to run the country if the need arose.”

“You are skirting a very dangerous territory, General.” Tony warned. “What proof do you have?”

“My brother,” Thor growled, “was attacked, as was I, Lord Stark, the King’s sisters and James himself. You suggest this was some ruse?”

Rumlow took a deep breath, and turned to Bucky.

“Your majesty, I am aware that is a dangerous accusation to make. I believe I can make my point, if you will hear me out.”

“I will listen.” 

“James,” Thor began, but Bucky held up a hand, stopping his words. 

“All I am doing is listening, Thor,” Bucky said, voice softer for the moment. “I promise you, nothing leaves this room without irrevocable proof that it is so. Your family has been nothing but loyal to me over the years. I will not throw that history away lightly.”

The golden general’s lips twisted down, but he listened, nodding his head and stepping back even as he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Proceed, General Rumlow,” Bucky commanded.

“It is clear to all of us, Loki Odinson has the power, finances, and willpower to succeed at a coup. That does not make him a traitor. Yet the man he reportedly captured was found dead, a blade sliced through his throat. He was the only one here who knew he would have protection, in his room.” Rumlow motioned to Thor. “I believe that he sent men after himself, knowing he would be safe. If your majesty hadn’t held off his own attack against overwhelming odds, Thor would never have arrived in time to assist you. Neither Lord Stark, nor Loki did.”

Bucky pursed his lips and this seemed to spur Rumlow on.

“There is a simple way we can know whether this is true or false. Thor was in Loki’s quarters, woken at the time of the attack. He would know whether or not Loki was there before, wouldn’t he?”

Thor’s lips pursed and he straightened up, pushing his chest out, and suddenly reminding Steve how fierce a warrior he was armed with only a sword and naked as the day he was born. He had killed many attackers without getting so much as a scratch. Steve wasn’t sure if Rumlow was mad or just that sure of himself to challenge this man. Still, there was something odd to the implication that Thor knew his brothers sleeping habits so well he would be able to tell where Loki was in the middle of the night.

“Why is it, General,” Bucky said in a voice so soft it shouldn’t have made Steve as uneasy as it did, “you are so sure Thor was in Loki’s room?”

Rumlow smiled, uncertain, glancing away as though he was uncomfortable.

“I am casting no accusations here. I am sure Thor can speak for himself.”

“Thor?” Bucky pressed gently. “Were you with your brother that evening?”

Swallowing, Thor lifted his shoulder and dropped it again.

“We share his rooms whenever I visit. There is one set aside for me.”

“But were you with him?” Bucky questioned and Steve watched the odd way Thor turned from Rumlow to Bucky, as if facing an execution. There was something horrible growing in his eyes, the same something that Steve had felt on that highway two months prior when Rumlow and his soldiers and cornered them, pointed their bows and arrows at their hearts, and told them to kneel. Trapped, Thor was trapped.

“When they attacked, I grabbed my sword and charged them. Loki was there. They were coming for him.” 

There was something almost pleading in Thor’s words.

“And before?” Lord Stark snapped, agitated beyond what the situation warranted. “Someone let them in. Someone told them where to go!”

Thor’s mouth opened, closed, and Steve remembered, all at once, how very naked Thor had been. Without meaning to, he tightened his hand on Bucky’s ankle, nails digging in as the implication of it struck. What Thor wouldn’t say, how certain Rumlow was they were together, Thor’s nudity and Loki not arriving with him, despite having been with Thor during the initial attack.

“Steve?” Bucky asked quietly.

Alarmed at being addressed, Steve glanced up at his King, then at the helpless, trapped look in Thor’s eyes. He had felt that way once and he couldn’t stand the sight of it. Not when he thought he knew what had happened. God help him if he was wrong.

“I’m sorry, sire,” Steve said nervously, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, but…”

Bucky’s smile was tight as he looked down, combing his hand through Steve’s hair in encouragement.

“Go ahead.”

“Th- Lord Odinson saved your life, saved the court, the country. Perhaps… Perhaps your majesty could accept his word that… that he would have heard anyone entering Lord Loki Odinson’s rooms? He did, after all, hear the attackers. Got to them before they could get past him. It seems… to me… that he would have heard anyone else as well. Besides,” Steve added in a rush, “not seeing him is not proof if no one saw Lord Loki Odinson let the traitors in.”

Bucky sighed, turning back to look at Thor.

“Do not think I am unaware you are refusing to answer. This avoidance is not like you, Thor. I am used to never getting a straight answer out of your brother, but was sure you were the polar opposite of him.” Bucky paused for a moment, and Thor looked down. “What my consort says has merit. You have served me well, have protected me and fought for me and I will give you the benefit of the doubt. Would you have heard if Loki left your rooms?”

“Yes,” Thor answered instantly, stepping forward. “I swear on my life, your majesty,” Steve winced, the first time Thor had not used Bucky’s name, “on our friendship and the blood we have spilled side-by-side, that I would have heard Loki leave. He did not.”

“Then that is all,” Bucky began and this time had to hold up a hand as Rumlow began to protest. “That is all,” he repeated, voice hard as granite. “There is no proof, thus no suspicion. If I hear any rumors or whisperings of this at court, I will know it was your doing General. Ensure it is not so.”

“Yes, sire,” Rumlow said, bowing deeply. “Forgive me if I have overstepped.”

“You were over eager,” Bucky inclined his head. “More proof than you offered is required for such a charge. You are dismissed, see to the families of your men. Thor, please do so for the palace and Royal guards lost. I know you will honor them as no other can.”

“Yes, sire,” Thor murmured, his usually rich voice subdued. Bowing as well, he turned for the door and Rumlow scrambled to follow, glancing back where Lord Stark remained, hands folded behind his back, not turning to watch. It was the posture of a man deep in thought, the wrinkle between his brow only proving Steve’s thoughts.

When the door shut again, Bucky said, “You will keep an eye on Loki.”

“Yes,” Lord Stark agreed, then glanced down at Steve. “This is wise council to keep?”

Steve bristled, glaring, but held his tongue. Bucky just smiled, looking down at him and then bending, taking Steve by the arm and pulling him to his feet. It was a gesture that drained all Steve’s anger, left him staring at his king’s eyes and the sweet, gentle smile that returned just for him.

“I’m going to move you into the rooms reserved for the royal consort’s, is that alright? You’ll be adjacent to my own, though… I think you’ll spend most nights in my bed. What do you think?” 

Uncertain, Steve glanced at Lord Stark and Bucky’s grin grew.

“This is Tony, my oldest and dearest friend. You can speak freely around him.”

“Oh,” Steve relaxed, pressing his hand over Bucky’s and moving as close to him as he’d wanted. “My friends?”

“The servants wing,” Bucky answered immediately. 

Steve licked his lips, glanced at Tony, and then blurted, “Can’t I just stay with you?”

When Bucky laughed, so did Tony, the later rubbing at his nose.

“I see why you like him. Speaks his mind.”

“He’s right here,” Steve snapped.

Tony bowed and Steve bit his tongue in surprise.

“So he is,” Tony said simply. “We will need to discuss heirs, James.”

“Not today,” Bucky answered, smiling at Steve like he was the sun. “Today, my consort moves in with me and we’ve stopped a coup. Let it be enough.”

“I will keep an eye on Loki,” Tony said, as if the conversation had never changed to anything else. “He will catch on fast,” Tony added ruefully.

“Good,” Bucky said. “If it is him, let him be afraid. If it is not, let him come to me to defend himself.”

“James,” Tony hesitated, then said quickly, “I don’t think he did it.”

Bucky blew out a breath and pressed his hand to Steve’s cheek before turning to his friend.

“I do not want to believe it either.”

“That… is not the same,” Tony said hesitantly.

“No,” Bucky said grimly. “It is not.”

Taking a breath, Steve looked toward the door where Thor had gone and hoped he had made the right choice helping him. 

\----

Returning to the barracks for the last time, Steve’s heart was in his throat. He had so much to tell them, but had yet to actually hear that they were fine. From what Thor had said about specific attacks made him hope they would be, but he hadn’t been willing to ask if anyone had checked. It was oddly too personal, like asking for a favor and he was loathe to do that with Bucky lest it be thought he was taking advantage of his position. Bucky had enough to deal with without rumors of a gold digger as well, not to mention the thought of Bucky distrusting him made his stomach clench in knots. Their relationship was still so new, fresh, it felt as if any misstep could break the fledgling thing into pieces. It was strange enough to find his clothes, his personal training garb, waiting for him when he woke up. Nobody explained how they were delivered, he never even saw the servant that must have brought the clothes, never had the chance to question them about his friends.

Opening the door, Steve felt his heart leap into his throat at the unusual quiet of the room. The troupe was always loud, someone always bickering, or practicing, or at least talking. Now there was nothing and Steve feared the worst until he stepped inside. Everyone was there, seated about the room staring away from the door, but wore looks so somber, Steve couldn’t fully relax.

“Did something happen?” Steve asked.

Five heads snapped in his direction and then everyone was talking at once.

“Steve!”

“Oh my god, Spangles!”

“You’re okay! They wouldn’t tell us and the attack…”

“We were so worried!”

“Jesus, who did that to you?”

Swallowing, Steve flushed as Peggy pulled at his arm, staring hard at the bruises Bucky had left behind. Ducking his head, he hoped to hide the larger one on his throat, but Natasha hissed and he knew he’d been caught. 

“You look as if some animal mauled you,” Peggy growled.

“It’s nothing,” Steve insisted as she pushed his chin up with her fingertips. “I’m fine, really. Bu - King James fought them off, nearly half a dozen, and then we had to hide most of the night, but it’s fine now and… and I have good news?”

Both Peggy and Sharon were glaring at him.

“Who did this, Steven?” Natasha demanded.

“Not sure you want him to answer that,” Sam said, lips twisting as he held back a laugh and rubbed at his nose.

“Of course I… oh,” Natasha flushed as red as her hair. It took Peggy and Sharon a moment longer to put two and two together. Peggy laughed, patting Steve’s hand as Natasha finally drew her hand back. 

“You always did bruise easily,” Sharon murmured, looking him up and down with a considering gleam in her eyes that made Steve want to blush. A lot. Only, he already was. “I’m glad, at least, that you had some fine.”

“‘Bout time,” Sam muttered, then grunted as Peggy elbowed him.

“So, the news?” Clint asked, tussling Steve’s hair.

“You are moving out of the slave barracks and into the Servants Quarters!” Steve announced happily, glancing at the tiny cots and the single chest for personal affects each of them was allotted in the barracks. “You’ll have your own rooms and everything, even if they’ll probably be small.”

“Like we’re not used to small,” Peggy huffed.

“You might be,” Clint agreed, “but that just means you need to date different men.”

“Only, where to find them?” she cast an dismissive look over Sam and Clint, prompting the latter to give an offended squeak of protest.

“Not fair! You’ve never even seen my dick.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Peggy demurred with a wicked twist to her lips.

“Nat! She’s picking on me again!” Clint called and Steve had the perfect view of the eye-roll Natasha made before she turned to Clint.

“That’s because you you always whine to me instead of sticking up for yourself.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, “man up. Steve did.”

“Mm, just look at the size of those hand prints,” Sharon teased, grinning at Steve. “You know what they say about a man with big hands.”

As Steve flushed all over again, Natasha caught Steve’s elbow and pulled him toward one of the beds.

“You have to tell us everything,” she insisted. “Was he a gentleman? What do you mean he fought of a dozen attackers? We heard fighting, screaming, what happened?”

Sobering quickly, Steve motioned the others closer.

“There was an attack last night,” Steve told them. “Someone tried to kill King James and overthrow his regime. He was a perfect gentleman, and then we were attacked and he was… it was…” Flashes of steel and blood flickered through Steve’s mind. Someone squeezed his shoulders hard and someone else said his name, but he wasn’t sure who. “It was awful,” he whispered. “So many people died… I’ve not seen anything like it…”

Distantly, Steve became aware that Natasha was petting him, Sam’s hands were on his shoulders, and Peggy had his hands in hers. Sharon and Clint hovered, looking worried, and Steve felt awful for being the cause.

“I’m okay,” he said again. “King James protected me.”

“And fucked you,” Peggy said dryly.

Steve blushed.

“That was later. He was… was so… angry at not being able to help defend the castle, I just wanted to help, so I offered to dance and he… well…”

“Was a man,” Natasha said with an amused smirk.

“Hey,” Sam huffed, “I resemble that remark.”

“It was really good,” Steve said quickly, not wanting his friends to think anything bad about Bucky. “He was so… manly and… and…”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Sam said, squeezing Steve’s shoulders. “We don’t actually need a play by play. Just so long as he didn’t hurt you - Er, I mean, didn’t…”

“What Samual means,” Natasha said primly, “was that it was what you wanted.”

“It was,” Steve confirmed, “and I needed the distraction, too. Not to mention, he was a little jealous after Lord Thor Odinson came to our rescue naked.”

“How naked?” Clint asked

“How naked,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Clint, naked means naked.”

“So you saw the goods?” Peggy demanded, eyes bright. “And your king didn’t like you staring?”

Steve choked down a giggle as he shook his head, then held out his arm. He pressed two fingers to his elbow, then drew them down to his wrist.

“No!” Sharon shouted, then in a whisper added, “Are you serious?”

“That’s over a foot long,” Natasha protested.

“My vagina hurts,” Peggy said, pressing her thighs together.

“All he had was a sword and his… everything was just swinging freely. I don’t even think he was bothered by fighting naked. Everyone was staring, too, but he just slapped Lord Stark on the back when he brought it up and thanked him for the compliment.”

“Thor is very proud,” interrupted Bucky’s voice from the door.

Everybody froze and then scrambled to face the king, obviously not knowing what to do with such a surprise, personal visit.

“Your Majesty,” Clint greeted, bowing. Everyone followed suit, Steve as well, though he was the most surprised to see Bucky since he had just been with him not twenty minutes ago. There he was, though, standing in the doorway, flanked by two guards who he waved away as Steve watched.

Walking to him, Bucky brushed their lips together and Steve felt his face heat up.

“Do I have a reason to be jealous?” he asked quietly.

Narrowing his eyes, Steve rose onto his toes so their lips were touching again.

“Do I?”

“No,” Bucky murmured, grey eyes going soft for a moment before he stepped back. “I trust that Steve already passed you the news about your change of quarters?”

“Yes, sire,” Peggy said, glancing at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “It’s most generous, thank you.”

“No, generosity would be to free you,” Bucky corrected, “but as I’ve told Steve, politics prevent me from doing so and I am truly sorry for that.”

“Does that mean you even considered the possibility?” Sam asked boldly.

“I did,” Bucky nodded, glancing again at Steve.

“That’s… incredibly generous of you, sire,” Sam said, eyes wide and also looking to Steve. 

“You are very talented artists,” Bucky said looking over the group, “and privately I dislike slavery as an institution. Perhaps one day I will be able to abolish it without losing the support of the nobility, but today is not that day. So, in the meantime, I will provide for you how I can. And,” Bucky smiled at Steve, “request my consort join me for dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” Steve blurted without thinking, making Sharon snicker, but Steve didn’t care. He stepped forward to place his hand on Bucky’s arm, unable to look away from those piercing eyes. “I’d love to.”

“Good,” Bucky covered his hand and looked around at the others. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends, then? Afterward I’ll get out of your hair and you can help them settle in their new rooms. A royal guard will escort you to your own rooms once you’re ready.”

Steve felt his mouth go dry, but he swallowed down the nervousness of being the consort of a king and turned toward his friends. That Bucky wanted to meet them, know his family, only hardened Steve’s resolve to overcome anything Bucky’s title might throw between them because, at the end of the day, when they were together, they were just two men. Two men, falling in love.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve stared at the garment and then up at Loki Odinson. Since he’d just bathed, he wore nothing but a towel, though it wasn’t the first time he’d been so undressed around the Lord. He’d taken a personal interest in all of Steve’s outfits, especially the last, which had been weird and uncomfortable, but a rousing success. If Loki wanted to take an interest in how he dressed for Bucky, Steve wouldn’t protest, so long as he kept his hands to himself and Bucky remained so interested. The way Loki looked at him didn’t suggest any kind of actual carnal interest in Steve, rather like Steve was a beloved toy. It was both disconcerting and kind of funny, but never actually made Steve feel threatened. Uncomfortable and huffy, yes. Scared? No.

“My entire leg will show,” Steve said slowly. “both my legs will show,” Steve made a pause to make sure Loki would hear the emphasis clearly, “entirely.”

“You showed more last time,” Loki pointed out, sitting down on the padded bench under the wall and splaying his long legs. The metal studded heels of his green knee-high boots clicked against the stone floors. 

With an unwilling sigh, Steve had to admit the man had a point. When it came to any kind of decency, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. A leg, ha. Soon everyone would see how much leg he had. Lifting up the lower portion, Steve frowned. The leather and brass combined made a very heavy garment.

“How does it even…buckle?”

“Here,” Loki lifted the long, draping loin cloth and pointed to the inner seams. “Hooks, see?”

Steve did and he swallowed. 

“So the bottom two belts…”

“Are for decoration, yes,” Loki confirmed. “The entire thing rests upon the topmost belt. These merely draw attention to your legs and keep the cloth from showing too much when you walk.” Loki made a vague hand gesture in the air. “It’s best to retain some air of mystery, not reveal all at once.”

“Showing...” Steve glanced at the rest of the clothes, “There’s no undergarment?”

“Imagine,” Loki purred, a slow, wicked smirk spreading on his face, “what his majesty will do when he realizes _that_.”

Pressing his lips together, Steve felt a surge of lust. What indeed. Something that made Steve hard in moments, he was sure. 

“You see the merit?” Loki laughed. “Now get dressed, I want to see the effect.”

Huffing, Steve gathered the clothes and took them to the screen Loki must have asked someone to set up after Steve had refused to strip for him last time. Shielded behind it, he dropped his towel and shrugged his way into the upper portion of the outfit. It was the most clothing Loki had given him to cover his chest. Made of the same type of leather, adorned with gleaming brass, it bared his arms and stomach, but defined his chest, making it seem broader than it was. The loin cloth, once fixed about his waist, hung precariously from his hips. The leather covering, matching front and back, was a long triangle that hung down past his knees, but was pointed so sharply that his thighs were bare nearly to the tops. The sides were completely bare, only three belts holding the loin cloth in place, showing off his hips, leaving a scant few inches covered. His legs were exposed entirely, and the brass chains hanging over his groin only drew the eyes down, between his legs, while he wore nothing underneath. It was almost as bad as the sheer cloth from the night before. 

Taking a fortifying breath, Steve stepped out from behind the screen and turned around for Loki to get a good look. The lord squinted, hummed, then grabbed a box off the counter. Silently he placed it in Steve’s hands, then opened it to remove the jewelry inside. There was, thankfully, far less than last time. More brass soon gleamed on his wrists, ankles, and about his head. The latter was strange, brass chains and beaten discs, cool against his forehead, over his ears, but when he looked in the mirror, he had to admit it framed his face well, drawing attention to his eyes. Still, every time he moved, he was painfully aware of the press of the heavy leather against his naked cock. It was cool and soft, but Steve wasn’t used to something like this being anywhere near his groin.

“Well?” Loki said pointedly after Steve had stared for a few moments. 

Steve sighed, both defeated and excited. The very thought of Bucky’s reaction once he learned that there was nothing under the heavy leather made him shiver. It was ridiculous just how many mixed emotions Lord Odinson could provoke in a person at the same time.

“I’ll wear it.” 

Loki chuckled, grinning smugly, his eyes far too knowing for Steve’s comfort.

“I thought you would.”

\----

The royal guard that escorted Steve to Bucky’s rooms was far too on-edge for Steve’s liking, glancing down every corridor as if expecting an imminent attack. It made sense after the night before, but it left Steve uncomfortable. He was more than happy to leave the man’s presence when he held open the doors, striding into Bucky’s room, wondering what he’d think of the outfit. Wondering when he’d realize what lay beneath.

Someone, he noticed, had removed the bodies and covered the floor in rugs to hide the blood.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed, voice and gaze eager as he hurried forward dressed in black and royal blue formal robes, a half-empty goblet of wine in his hand. Now that Steve had seen his king fight, he could easily see the military accents to his clothing. Even though the overcoat was heavily embroidered with silver, it was made for a soldier, more than a court dandy. The harness at Bucky’s hips was used to house real weapons. 

In a moment he was in Bucky’s strong arms, pressed to his chest, bending backwards as he was kissed for all he was worth. He didn’t even think the clothes had anything to do with it, but that was a fleeting thought as he gave himself to the kiss, reveling in the taste of Bucky’s mouth under the sweet and heavy taste of the wine so popular in these lands, the feel of his tongue twined with his own, and his hands holding him so close he was in danger of adding more bruises to his collection.

“Your majesty,” Steve managed, breathless, when Bucky released him.

“Bucky,” the king insisted and Steve smiled slowly.

“Yes, your majesty,” he said teasingly.

Bucky’s grey eyes lit with warmth and he slapped Steve’s butt lightly.

“Scamp,” he said, laughter in his voice. “Come, dinner is ready.”

One of the two doors leading off Bucky’s room that Steve had not been through apparently led to a small, private dining room. A small dark wood table sat with four chairs about it over a white, thick carpet. The walls were wood paneled and a shining, crystal chandelier dominated the ceiling. The air smelled of rich, savory foods, likely coming from the table set against the wall laden with dozens of heavy clay half-spheres covering an array of dishes. Bucky uncovered each, naming them, but Steve was lost in the foreign sounds, and his mouth was watering at the delicious scents. 

Finally, Bucky laughed and kissed him atop his head.

“I’m sorry, pet. I forgot I don’t have to impress you, and I’m keeping you from your food. Eat.”

“I didn’t mind,” Steve assured, looking up at Bucky and feeling guilty. Not to mention a little stupid. The people Bucky courted as king were surely far more sophisticated than he was. “And you _don’t_ have to impress me. I’m yours already.”

“I know,” Bucky said, handing Steve a plate and reaching for a goblet and a bottle of wine, “but I want to. I don’t want to take you for granted. You’re not my prisoner, you’re my consort, and if you ever wish that to change, you can tell me, and we’ll make it work. Here, it’s my favorite,” Bucky said pouring a goblet for Steve. Even from where he stood, Steve could smell the drink. It was heavy, cloyingly sweet; the kind of wine that Steve hated.

“Um, I would prefer to stick to water if that’s okay,” 

“It’s not to your taste?” Bucky asked, a quirk to his lips.

“Not really,” Steve admitted and was gratified to see Bucky shrug and put the goblet to his own lips, drinking what he had poured in two big gulps, before reaching for the jug of clear water with some fresh smelling herbs floating in it. 

“More for me,” Bucky said cheerily as he poured the water into the now empty goblet.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, a thought popping into his head that had been plaguing him all day. “Tony mentioned heirs…”

“Ah, yes,” Bucky answered, filling his own plate with a selection from the dishes. “Without one, the court will grow nervous. Incidents like yesterday will become more common.”

“So,” Steve ladled several mushrooms in a brown sauce onto his plate, “you’ll have to sleep with a woman?”

Bucky tensed and nodded.

“Yes. There are many ways to go about it. Perhaps a political alliance with a child as part of the contract, or a harem as my father had -”

“Can I watch?” Steve blurted.

His king went still, then looked over at him with shining eyes and a crooked smile.

“That’s what you have to say? I cannot be faithful and you just want to watch?”

“Yes,” Steve said, trying to be as confident as he could while his mind whirled with the image of Bucky’s heavy body over a slim woman, his hips between pale thighs. Without warning, Bucky bent and kissed Steve, hard. It was brief and chaste, tasting of that thick wine, but the passion behind it was clear.

“I love you,” Bucky said against his lips, fervent and so sincere it made Steve’s chest hurt. “You’re perfect.”

Flushing to his roots, Steve stared into Bucky’s eyes and felt a tingle all the way down to his toes.

“I love you, too,” he whispered. Turning away, he cleared his throat, tried to slow his heart, and piled more food onto his plate blindly before turning and taking a seat at the table. He stabbed a mushroom and looked up at his king. “You thought I’d hate you for it, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t think you’d love the idea,” Bucky confirmed, taking a seat across from Steve and lifting his goblet in his hand. “It will be up to her, you understand?”

Steve huffed.

“Try to find someone who will agree.”

Bucky laughed, eyes bright, smile wide, and Steve couldn’t help but smile in return. 

\----

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked just behind Steve. He was keeping close, always keeping a hand somewhere on Steve’s body, the heat of his touch making goosebumps appear on Steve’s skin. They were on a tour of Bucky’s rooms, his new home now, not that Steve was paying much attention. He was far too focused on the closeness of the man behind him, the heat of his body, the scent of him. 

“Yes,” Steve admitted, his voice already breathy. 

“You sure?” 

Bucky put both his hands on Steve’s sides and slowly dragged them lower, over Steve’s wait and then his exposed hips, making Steve gasp. He closed his eyes as he felt Bucky slip his fingers under the wide bands holding the front and the back pieces of leather together, holding his breath as they pushed under the slip of leather keeping Steve modest. Bucky froze all at once as his fingertips continued to the joint of his leg and felt nothing but skin.

“Are you…” Bucky asked, his voice dropping through the registers rapidly. He pressed so close to Steve, the smaller man could feel the tell-tale bulge pressing into his lower back.

“Yeah,” he pushed into the questing hand, feeling Bucky pull back so he could work his hands under the leather, palming Steve’s naked cheeks.

Bucky rasped out a shuddering breath.

“Christ, Steve, I could just bend you over the nearest chair.” 

“I,” Steve swallowed, his own heartbeat racing as his cock twitched and filled at the thought of it, right there in the middle of the room, being taken without mercy. “I put oil,” he whispered, “inside me. After my bath.”

Bucky drew in a shuddering breath and bent to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, his forehead hot against Steve’s skin.

“I’m going to bend you over this chair,” Bucky hissed, “Not even take you out of the clothes.” Steve was hard, his voice as wrecked as Bucky’s as he whispered into his ear. “Gonna…use that tiny little ass of yours… Fuck you right here.”

Bucky’s fingers dug into his skin and he exhaled, as shuddery as Steve himself before his hands relaxed. Steve expected there would be new bruises on his hips from how hard Bucky had gripped him. Now they were pushing back under the loin cloth, over his hips, towards his aching cock. 

“You make me so dizzy,” Bucky said breathlessly and quiet, “so hot and… And…” 

“Bucky?” Steve asked as he felt the grip Bucky had on him slacken suddenly. He looked over his shoulder up at his king. To his shock, he was pale, eyes glazed as his mouth opened and closed, working like he was still trying to speak, though no sound came out.

“And…” Bucky croaked and then collapsed, his heavy bulk cashing onto Steve. If he’d been turned around, Steve might have been able to catch him, but all he could do was cry out and twist, reaching out. Bucky fell like a sack of potatoes, sprawling senselessly on the floor with a horrible thud.

“Bucky?!” Steve cried, dropping to his knees. The grey eyes stared at nothing, then slowly closed, and panic seized Steve’s stomach. “Help!” he shouted, shaking Bucky’s shoulder, calling as loud as he could, irrationally afraid to leave Bucky alone for even a moment. “Somebody help! Your king needs help!”

A shrillness had creeped into his voice, but Steve didn’t care, just kept calling and shaking Bucky, hoping that this time Bucky would react. 

“For god’s sake, help!”

When he heard the door open, he exhaled and turned to look in the direction of the heavy boots he could hear. 

“Help, he…” 

Steve trailed off as the newcomer spoke.

“No need to worry, little dancer,” Rumlow’s rough, friendly voice said. “Your king merely sleeps.”

Terrified, Steve clutched at Bucky’s robe, staring at the general that had taken him and his friends from their home, forced them into chains, knowing what was done to ‘entertainment’ in this place. Rumlow was too calm, not making any attempt to help at all, yet seemed to know what was happening. Meaning, he must have been behind it. Maybe behind the attempted coup as well.

“Wh-what did you do?” Steve demanded, a terrible certainty overcoming him. Then he drew a breath, deep as he could and screamed, “Help!”

Rumlow just laughed, glancing behind him toward the door.

“The guards are mine,” Rumlow said, continuing to the still-full table of food and picking up a grape. He popped it into his mouth as he looked through the selection. “They won’t answer your screams.” He chose some kind of pastry and popped that into his mouth. “Damn, this is good.” he murmured, wiping his hand on his pants before turning back to Steve. “Go ahead, get it out of your system.”

“What the hell do you want?” Steve demanded, feeling terror claw up inside his throat. He wanted to scream, god how he did, but that would only give the bastard satisfaction.

“Me?” Rumlow laughed yet again, turning and looming over Steve. “What does any man want? _Power_. And with his princelyness there out of the way, I’ll have it. You see, little one, this kingdom has resisted its neighbor’s power for far too long. The unfortunate alliance with the house of Odin has only postponed what was inevitable. Once James is found murdered - by the hand of his new pleasure slave, whom I caught red-handed, the country will be in chaos. It won’t take long for my employers to enter with the army that’s waiting at the border and take over. This land should have been theirs a long time ago, would have been, if it wasn’t for those damned Odinson’s.” Rumlow sneered and tossed up a hand, smiling, “No matter.”

“Y-you can’t get away with this,” Steve stammered, shaking harder, and praying his king would wake. Wake and rise and save him, save them both, once more.

“I can’t?” Rumlow laughed and knelt on the other side of Bucky. “Little boy, I already have. Look at you!” The general’s fingers brushed Steve’s wrist and he gasped, jerking away. “Who would really doubt that you fought back? After the last time? What he did?” Rumlow’s look of pity was almost believable. “I don’t blame you for defending yourself, little one.”

“My friends will know,” Steve insisted.

Rumlow smiled at him, the same way he had when he’d slapped them in chains.

“An unfortunate fire will solve that problem,” he shrugged. “Nobody will care about a few slaves locked in a burning room. Now, let’s get down to it, shall we?” Rumlow’s dark, evil gaze flicked over Steve’s body. “Then again, we have time, not like he’ll wake up soon.” Rumlow cast a gloating glance at the unconscious king. “Why don’t we play?”

Even when they’d been attacked, Steve had never been as terrified as he was now. The implication of what Rumlow was saying was clear, even to him. Steve stared at Rumlow, at how calm and how sure of himself the general was. It was that moment he realised, with a sudden and piercing clarity, that there was no help coming. He and Bucky were going to die, his friends were going to die, because the guards were on Rumlow’s side, and there was nobody to hear his cries. He wouldn’t even be granted an easy death. Rumlow would rape him first.

There was no help coming. No Odinson just outside the door.

If Steve wanted to survive, if he wanted to save Bucky, he needed to do it on his own. He couldn’t fight, there was no way he could overpower Rumlow in a straight fight. He couldn’t outrun him, he couldn’t hide. All he had was what he’d always had: his size. Not once had Rumlow thought him a threat, but if he could get close, if he could get the bastard’s own dagger, he might stand a chance.

“P-lease,” Steve choked out, letting the tears that were choking him gather at his eyes, letting his terror show. He let his shoulders curl in, to look as terrified as he felt, fighting the instinct to puff out and make himself bigger. “Please don’t.”

Grinning, Rumlow stepped over Bucky, reaching for Steve, and he scrambled back and away, not even trying to stand, making Rumlow follow him and step away from Bucky.

“No!” Steve shouted slapping at Rumlow’s hands weakly as he caught Steve about the throat, the jeweled collar digging in so he couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, the ways I’ll make you scream tonight,” Rumlow laughed. “And you thought you’d caught yourself a king.”

Steve stopped fighting, turned away, his eyes closing and Rumlow didn’t even try to pin his hands. Like any bully Steve ever knew, Rumlow revelled in the helplessness of his victim, his breathing already harder, aroused by the fear he was causing. A tongue, slimy and wet, licked at the tears that had leaked from Steve’s eyes.

“Bet you’re sweet,” Rumlow growled.

With the general bent over him like that, Steve’s searching hand sought out the handle of one of the daggers rakishly tucked into Rumlow’s belt. Steve carefully wrapped his hand around it. He only had a second, just that one moment before Rumlow caught on. Sobbing, loud and terrified, he tightened his grip.

“That’s it, little one,” Rumlow hummed, pressing his face into Steve’s neck and licking at his pulse as his hands fumbled with the belt about his waist. “Let it out. You know, maybe I’ll let my men have a taste of you, too, before we’re done. Shouldn’t keep something this good all to myself.”

Knowing it was his only chance, Steve moved as fast and precisely as any acrobat and pulled the blade free with one smooth move, reversing immediately to stab at where he remembered Rumlow’s wide belt ended and his embroidered shirt started. He put as much power in his arms as he could behind the thrust, feeling the sharp dagger sink in with shocking ease.

With a yell, Rumlow backhanded Steve hard enough he could feel his lip split and stars briefly appeared across his vision. The dagger jerked free and every part of him wanted to drop the knife and cower, but he knew it would mean the end of this fight. So he stabbed again, blindly, trying to reach anything, hurt Rumlow as much as he could in the few precious moments that he had. He sliced Rumlow’s inner arm, tearing through cloth and barely nicking the skin. 

Rumlow snarled, “You...little…” and reached for Steve with both hands.

Steve did as Clint had taught him and ran towards the pain. He tucked himself into as small ball as possible and dived forward, between Rumlow’s outstretched arms, between his legs and sprung up, turning on a dime, slashing blindly at Rumlow’s back. This time the blade connected, cutting the heavy jacket and into flesh. Rumlow arched with a choked gasp, both hands spread wide. He was still on his feet, and Steve did the only thing he could think of, stabbing forward again and again, until his own hand was cut from the handle sliding from his slippery skin. Steve kept going until he was huffing and panting with the exertion and realised Rumlow was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Blood that was splashed everywhere: on the floor, on Rumlow, on Steve. Steve was shaking and crying, his body slick with sweat, muscles aching as if he’d been performing all night long. 

With a sob, he let the dagger drop from his hands. He scrambled back staring at the blood covering his hands, his wrists, his legs, and the floor. Sobbing, shaking, he crawled to Bucky and shook him, not knowing if he could believe Bucky was merely sleeping. He could be poisoned, dead, and there was nothing Steve could do about it. Not with Rumlow’s men at the door. Men, Steve realized with a growing panic, who would kill him the moment they saw what he’d done.

Scrambling to his feet, Steve ran to the door. Then froze, staring at the closed, solid wood, and then about the room. Time, he had to buy time, for someone to come looking for them. Surely, someone would. Jarvis, maybe Loki, a servant to clean up after their meal, maybe even Bucky himself waking. 

Running to the heavy table by the door, Steve yanked, shoved, pulled and pushed until it was flat against the doors. Then he added every bit of furniture he could find, the chairs, a dresser, piling it to form the only barricade he had. The only protection they had. When it failed…Steve bit his lip so hard it bled all over again. 

If he was going to die, he was going to die with Bucky. 

Dragging himself back to the dining room was harder than it ever should have been, but all Steve wanted to do was lie down and cry, or sleep. Maybe both. Every part of him hurt, his hands shook, his vision was blurry, but he made his way back to his king and fell to his knees at his side. Weakly he pulled Bucky’s head into his lap and waited for whatever was to come.

Time became a fluid thing. He had no idea how much had passed, if any at all, when the dry crack of doors being forced open jerked him back from where his mind had gone. Heart jolting and skittering as panic flooding his system, Steve grabbed for Rumlow’s dagger, barely registering the dull throb of his injured hand. The thought of Rumlow’s men coming to finish the job terrified him. He pointed the dagger at the door, his sight blurry from the tears that kept running down his face, and snarled because he was tired and afraid, Bucky hadn’t moved a single muscle yet, and Steve was probably going to die now, but not before he took some of them with him.

The crash, bang, crack repeated over and over from the door, the soldiers having to break through the barriers Steve had placed in their way. Then silence. It was a moment, but one that stretched to eternity as Steve strained to hear anything. Any sound that would tell him how many were there, how many were coming. 

Then there was a shape in the doorway, crimson and gold, and Steve swallowed down his tears because they were going to have to go through him to get to Bucky.

“Whoa!” 

The voice was vaguely familiar, but he struggled to place it. Dashing his arm across his eyes, Steve cleared his vision enough he could see the short figure with the dark facial hair even if the sword in his hands was unfamiliar sight. 

“Lord Stark?” Steve croaked, suddenly realising his throat hurt.

“Yeah,” the nobleman said cautiously. Holding both hands palms toward Steve, he took a few tentative steps forward. “You want to put that down?”

“No,” Steve choked out, the dagger wavering. “You might be with him. I won’t let you. I won’t!”

“Rumlow?” Tony asked, going still as Steve demanded. “I’m not with Rumlow. Remember? James said I was his closest friend. I just want to help.”

Gritting his teeth against a fresh wave a tears, Steve saw the tip of the blade shiver visibly in the air. 

“He won’t wake up,” Steve sobbed. “I can’t make him wake up, and he said he was going to kill us, make it look like I did it, but I stopped him. _I stopped him_.”

“Yeah, kid, you did,” Tony said, soothingly. Turning his head, he ordered someone behind him, “Go get the head of the troupe. Bring him here, fast as you can.” Then he was looking at Steve again, creeping closer, and closing his hand slowly over the one clutching the trembling blade. “You did great. Let me take it from here, okay?”

Steve’s fingers had clamped so hard around the hilt, Tony had to gently pry them free. It hurt so damn much to straighten his fingers, Steve choked off a cry at every digit. Then Tony was just as gently pulling him away from Bucky and kneeling at his side, checking his pulse, his breathing, and shouting something at the guards. Steve didn’t hear. He stumbled back, away from the room, Rumlow’s corpse, and Bucky’s body. His vision was tunneling, blackening at the edges, and his chest hurt. He couldn’t get enough air to breathe...

“Come on shrimp, breathe for me.” The familiar voice made his body sag in one violent move, enough that Clint had to catch him and wrap him in his arms. Steve pushed his face into the acrobat’s shoulder, the familiar scent comforting and calming as he sobbed his fear into his friend's shift. Clint didn’t try to shush him, didn’t tell him it was okay, but he held him close and tight, taking most of Steve’s weight. “The hell happened, Stevie?” 

“I ki-illed him,” Steve sobbed brokenly. 

“Killed who?” Clint asked, arms tightening about Steve’s shoulders.

“I _had_ to!” Steve cried, clutching at Clint’s shirt. “He was g-going to kill you, and me, and Bucky, and frame me for it and I _had_ to.”

“Shh, sh, sh; you’re safe now,” Clint murmured, holding him even tighter and sliding a hand through his hair. “You can let go. You’re safe.”

And Steve did, held safely by the only point of familiarity in the mad world he found himself in.


	10. Epilogue

“The arrangements are all made,” Loki was saying, “flowers, your clothing, the schedule. I just need you to finalize the guest list and I can send the invitations.”

Bucky winced. Loki providing the clothing for his wedding was a frightening thought. Either he would end up with the most elegant attire the court had ever seen, or he’d be half-naked in leather straps. There were equal chances with Loki. Then again, Steve half-naked in leather straps wouldn’t be such a terrible sight. Though, Bucky wasn’t sure the court could handle such a scandal. They were handling enough already with their king taking a former slave and commoner as his spouse.

“I trust your judgement in this,” Bucky said, waving away the papers Loki attempted to hand him. “Tony will take care of the seating.”

Tony coughed. Or choked. Bucky wasn’t too worried which. 

“James,” Tony said quickly, “you can’t be serious. I don’t have a head for these kinds of things, and this will be particularly difficult, what with seeing to your betrothed’s friends among nobility.”

Bucky raised a challenging eyebrow at his friend. 

“Well, why don’t you work with Loki to sort it out?” Bucky said sweetly. “If you think so highly of his skills, that is. Spend a few late nights on it?” His oldest friend got incredibly busy with his lace cuffs. “Maybe invite Thor?”

Loki coughed and Tony turned a deep shade of red.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” Tony huffed. 

Bucky harrumphed quietly and rolled his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed the two of you working so well together lately? Including each other on your projects? It’s about damn time, really, but isn’t including Thor a bit…odd?”

“So, for the pants,” came Loki’s saccharine sweet voice that sent goosebumps down Bucky’s neck immediately. “I heard that it’s popular in the southern countries to stuff the groin with cloth to make it appear less diminished.”

“Your king has no such need for tricks like that, I assure you.”

Bucky sat up, grinning as his betrothed’s voice superseded his appearance in the private offices behind the throne room. Both Loki and Tony half bowed, but Bucky’s tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. The clothing Steve wore these days was all tailored to make his dancer more beautiful, but the outfit he wore now wasn’t one he had seen in a long time. He’d thought it burned, truth be told, but there he was, in the leather and brass, fair-skinned legs on display for anyone to admire.

Bucky wondered who had cleaned the blood off.

“Compared to you, everything would look big,” Loki murmured, turning away and placing the papers under his arm.

Steve rolled his eyes. The relationship that had bloomed between him and Loki was a strange one. It was best to just let Loki be and have him as an ally while ignoring his barbs. Yet Steve always returned, but without any heat. Like they were simply cats batting a string back and forth, idle and unconcerned with really playing.

“You make time with Thor,” Steve returned, bowing to Bucky before walking up to stand at his side, “I’m not unsurprised your perception of size is skewed.”

Tony coughed, flushed, and began studying the ceiling. Loki’s green eyes widened slowly, then he rose up like a cat about to fight, opening his mouth. Sitting forward, Bucky narrowed his eyes at his friend because he knew that expression and the forked tongue it usually signified. 

“Peace, Loki,” Steve said softly, “I have known for some time. Your secret,” Steve’s eyes flicked to Tony, “is safe with us. You are family.”

The whiplash Loki appeared to have would have been funny if it had been anyone else.

“Well,” Loki huffed, “you’re still a peanut.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Witty.”

“I’m being gentle,” Loki informed Steve loftily. “I’m worried I might break you.”

“ _And_ we have work to do,” Tony interrupted, grabbing Loki’s arm and steering him toward the door. “Your majesty.”

“Do come back, Loki,” Steve called. “I can do this all day!”

Tony started rushing Loki towards the door, but not before Loki twisted, looking at Steve over his shoulder with a wicked smirk.

“Then I’ll be sure to gift you something that will ensure you can teach James how to go all day!” he said with as much innuendo as a human being could pack into a seemingly innocent sentence.

“I’m sure my king will be up for the challenge!” Steve shouted back, smiling as Tony really put his back into pushing Loki out of the room, the tall man resisting the whole way.

“I’m not sure if I should feel grateful for your faith, horrified at being so openly objectified, or bothered at the implication of what Loki’s gift could entail and _when_ he’s see fit to give it to us,” Bucky murmured, wrapping his arm about Steve’s waist to pull him close. He let his hand fall onto the three belts at his hip, fingers caressing the bared skin between, and looked up at his dancer. The smile was still there, happy and amused, as if verbally sparring with Loki had been fun, and not the terror that most of the court believed it to be. For a time after Rumlow had drugged him, it had been all Bucky could do to see that smile on Steve’s face again.

“Grateful, of course,” Steve said loftily, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and seating himself in his lap, “because you know you’ll love it.”

Bucky laughed, laying his other hand on Steve’s bare side.

“Of course. Whatever was I thinking?”

“Hopefully,” Steve said slowly, his smile turning wicked, “you were thinking how I’m not wearing anything beneath this.”

Bucky exhaled as he realised they were alone in the room. Alone, and Steve was making it very hard to think. The thing with Steve was he didn’t tease. He delivered exactly what he promised. So if he said he wasn’t wearing anything? Bucky could be sure his lover was not only naked under that loin cloth, but there was a good chance he was slick too. Bucky got so hard, so fast, he was almost in pain at the thought that he could just bend Steve over the nearest chair and slide his length between those pale cheeks. He could tell Steve to keep them nice and spread, showing Bucky that tiny hole, and Steve would, because Steve enjoyed Bucky taking him just as much as Bucky did. 

They had never had the chance to try out the garment of the night of the attack, thanks to Rumlow. Instead of having Steve, enjoying him thoroughly like he had wanted, he’d passed out and awoken to find Tony at his bedside. He hadn’t had any idea what had happened, that Rumlow had drugged him, that Steve had killed the general, or that Tony had realized who the true culprit was. He had arrived with Thor’s men in time to find Steve cradling Bucky in his lap, bloody and terrified, but willing to fight for him. Tony had had to explain it all, then explain why the hell Steve wasn’t there.

Bucky hadn’t let some servant summon his consort, he’d gone to him himself, finding Steve with his troupe, only just having fallen asleep. While he’d slept, Bucky had made plans of his own, drawing up orders and decrees, announcing to the whole city what Steve had done. How he had saved his king’s life, and what the reward would be. Freedom, not just for him, but for his friends as well.

Not that it had been easy after that. Steve had woken from nightmares for weeks, terrified and screaming. His hand was scared from where he’d sliced it open on the blade, and he panicked if Bucky licked his throat - not that he tried after that first time. The armies on the borders had to be put down as well, with many lives lost to hold his kingdom. Yet, he thought they were stronger for it, the shadows chased from the court, at least for now.

And he had Steve, his dancer, who had agreed to marry him and take on all the challenges that came with his new role in life. Yet, Steve had not balked at all, taken everything in stride, saying merely that his family had taught him never to run from pain.

“The things you do to me,” Bucky exhaled shakily, sliding his hands beneath the loin cloth to find bare cheeks he could squeeze in his hands. “You’re perfect, pet.”

Smiling, Steve leaned forward and brushed their noses together. 

“I love you, too.”

It would be difficult and sometimes dangerous, but it would be easier to face the life of a king with someone like Steve at his side.

**Author's Note:**

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